transient the day like her eyes
ebb and flow to paths of least resitance
her soft hand full of hopes releases them
shatter on the hard slate
but if one had flown
if only one had flown
but night overtakes her on hands and knees
gathering with gentle tear each fragment
and placing it in the coldness of its tomb
like children of ideals wrought too soon
they prematurely meet such dire ends
but she is not one to surrender to odds
and her strong tounge is razors to the whetted ear
the barbs of its treaty with its gentle nature
like spikes driven by brutal hammer in pouring rain
no rest from the cold labour
no break from the fast
if only one had flown
if only one had opened delicate wing
to warm sun
and with imperceptible beating wing carried itself
upwards out of these shadowed times in shadowed lands
if only one had flown
i would not cry to you such lament
but it is done
the best of our age
the bright jewels of our generation
spent like crushed hopes
on the cold slate
if only one had flown
if only one had flown