I often wonder
What it is about birds
That thrills me.

Is it the flight of birds
Soaring in the sky?
Or is it caused something else?

I used to sit outside,
Watching the birds fly overhead
During the autumn season.

I neither fathom nor understand
The thrill of flying, for we
Weren’t born with the gift of flight.

If we were gifted,
Would we feel the
turning earth beneath us?

Whenever you sit on the plane,
Do you look down
At the checkered board of fields?

You are not the only one who does.
I often look down beneath me,
Imagining flying without the plane.

But forevermore I will wonder, to no avail,
What it would it be to be flying like birds.