To trade my worries

For a pair of wings

Would be a most curious thing.

I fear I’d be no wiser

Than Daedulus’ son

With wings of feathers,

Of wax, and string.

And lonelier still,

For even a very respectable course,

Could easily drive me from

The most precious of beings.

The sun would still lure me,

And the sea would still drown

For I am not Icarus,

Though my feet are not planted on the ground.

Next Chapter: Silence