I once read
That a man looks at a bird, its
Feathers, its wings, under a microscope
Down to the tiniest detail,      giving
Names, claiming that      because
Of our understanding we,                        
Are somehow,      
Superior, but they,     are nations
Unto themselves,        living by
Sights we
Cannot,        
See and,  
Senses,    
We couldn't
Hope to,    
Comprehend.
In all our
Superiority
We still don't
Know, how it feels to fly.