by Denija Delic
Joy is to see,
That crowd of three.
So far they go,
Once looking back,
But not anymore.
And yet, they'd stop for a while,
Turn back, see me and smile.
Then again, they'd go away,
I wouldn't have a word to say.
They'd come again and take my hand,
We'd leave the place where I used to stand.
We'd go on mountains, way up, so high,
Open our wings, and began to fly.
…But my wing got broken and I wondered why…
With some time it healed and I could fly.
...But it was too late.
They flew away,
And once again,
I had to stay.