Poetry 1 min

Little Wing

Amy Kelsey

Little Wing

And now I sit under the camphor tree.

Letting its gracious green leaves enfold me,

As the birds in its branches scold me,

You though you could fly, Little Wing,

Right off the end of you nest, we saw you try,

But you landed on the stones, with you

face in the dust,

Too broken up to even cry.

So they took you away and patched your wing,

And you came back with a brace & a sling.

Yet even now you sing with us,

You join with that heavenly chorus,

As its filling you with spitit & then~

Whishpering~ Don't Give Up,

Little Wing, Try Again.

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