My wings don't fly anymore,
chained as they are to the cold, hard ground.
But once we used to soar,
my wings and I chased the hot, bright sun.
Oh how we would dance,
the wind and rain, my shadow and me.
But the music is dead,
all movement stilled and my choreography gone.
My heart still knows the dance,
and given half the chance my feet will follow.
No chains can hold strong forever,
someday we will be free to fly.
Until then I will wait,
but never once be cowed or broken.
