Made to Fly

A broken bird his dirge sings
While others flock the sky
Aflight on fluttering wings;
He wails with downcast eye,
"I was made for better things,
I, too, was made to fly!"

Prodigals wait at the gate,
Their home once was a sty;
The Father devoid of hate,
Watching with longing eye,
"Created replicas great,
They, too, were made to fly!"

Holy God, a sadder dirge
Wails here 'ere any die,
Unclean, the sins I must purge
Before sweet Mercy's eye.
"Reborn with this upward urge,
I, too, was made to fly!"

--Carduelis Tristis

copyright 1998, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved