where a storm brews
where the crows linger
where the people know them
but not by name
far away from where they had fallen
long ways away
from where they will rise once more

for now
they sit in the corner
of a place they love
building wings from feathers
left behind by the crows
who stare unbothered on the road

the first pair of wings were too small and ragged
a thing of pride but no structure
not meant for flight but holding them gave hope

the second pair took years
knowing the basic formula now
each feather painstakingly placed

the third pair was an experiment
a challenge to push the limits
to use instead of the pristine second

the fourth was a throwaway
born of desperation and frustration
with these they flew and fell
  
the fifth pair was a copy of the second
but fine-tuned and reinforced
and with them the crows left