The Shape of Wings
There is a peace in the hills I sometimes hear
Far away, a silence louder than sound,
A wind that touches every hillside with the gentleness of a finger on a beloved face,
When I was a child I wandered in that wind,
Rejoicing in the far away and lonely places,
The silver ripples the sunlight made on the endless blowing grass
The air whipping in my face made me feel alive.
Now I am grown my hands are much taken up with small things,
And I forget to notice the largeness of the sky,
The loudness of my beating heart,
And how a spirit watching the wind,
Can join the birds in their flight.
No one can truly wish to leave the world,
Who still sees the shape of wings
Rising from the water.