Fleeting feathers, away from us they flew,
Breaking wind of affection we know naught,
An ambiance of such unrivaled hue,
Sensation upon which none can be taught,
A fledgling among those of the great flock,
Fluttering round us, we cannot yet seize,
The minute not yet struck upon the clock,
Vacant of these pleasures we long to please,
For, Early bird to hastily to wake,
Purity fallen from its rightful nest,
Blind truth from vision, soon the air must take,
Early wings spread, sees one no longer blest,
Streaks of bliss pervade the darkening sky,
Heavens through which aged wings gracefully fly...