Oh, to be a bird and fly!

Freedom,
soaring above mortal toil,

Fleeing in altitudes-
the gravity of the mundane

escaping the grinding down
of a measured life,

What chance of flight now,
for me-
thirty five summers
then consumed of dust

Pslam 39:4
LORD, make me to know mine end,
and the measure of my days,
what it is; that I may know how frail I am.