Where does the bird hold up the sky?
Where time tells wisdom to the sun.
Where mystic songs strike off the clouds---
With obscure varied cryptic sounds.
Here a winged celestial voice sings.
The watchers' vigil there begins.
While echoed color and feathered mysteries found.
With a wisp they disappear.
The watcher is the volunteer.
A challenge fair remains the game,
forever novice made again.
Within this temporal realm of glory.
Below the sky held high and bright.
This novel fate befalls each flight.

P. Suess