Softly but gracely he fell.
Out of the skies as dark as it's deep.
In an awe I do dwell.
Nearly doubting if I were asleep.
In a wonderful place with a beautiful scene.
He stands tall yet unharmed still standing.
From the lengths he had come, tired he leaned.
And no proof of such a brutal landing.
His wings are dusty and the feathers fell off.
He did not at all seem weary or confused.
As if falling so high isn't that rough.
As if he was but merely amused.
He stands there proud and aloof.
Showing us humans how idiotic we seem.
He who knows all, brings us proof.
That he is almighty, soaring the skies like a dream.
And as he stands and walks on by.
While I leer him with open arms.
He does not budge and points to the sky.
Up he goes soaring over the farms.
With a gleam of the morning sun on his back.
His feathers most reflective over the cloud.
The white dove easly watches me over his neck.
While lifting of back on to the south.
