To each his own

Y'know what.

Behold the belittled lily, purple heather and burgundy rose.

For they give us hope to find contentment in our own novelty.

Little Wing

Fly, little wing

Into the swirling gust of hope

High above the pouring sky

Far beyond the rainbow's end

Where souls hear the faintest cry

Fly, little wing

With the pride of a wallflower

Blooming amongst the busy street

Unafraid of the cold oblivion

For their lives chant a toneless beat

Fly, little wing

Ride the waves of abiding faith

Across the old slumbering shore

With voiceless emotions of the setting sun

Till the heart finds a familiar cure

Fly, little wing

Share the calm spell of your mystery

And sweet dews of the early night

Ushering shadows of gentle moonbeams

And astral dreams towards the starry light.

Fly, little wing
The unhurried mind in aphotic plains
The sole guardian of solitude's heat
The old embracer of the icy gale
The lost wanderer whom I would greet

Fly, little wing
Catch the glimpse of the morning star
Shining down on your glistening road
To a place of uncharted trails
Where stories turn into an arcane code

Fly, little wing
O' dull feathers of the azure sky
And fellow miner for the heart of gold
Hum softly of your mortal price
For what's buried will be timely told

Fly, little wing
Breathe the cool air of credence
And sing your own saccharine song
For who are they, to rightfully say
What is different, and what is wrong?

Fly, little wing
Stand proud by the fallen twigs
And see the past through autumn's hues
The silent splendour of waning years
Amid the essence of vermilion views

Fly, little wing
Into the endless horizon

Painting portraits, of your final crime
Gliding past, collapsing stars
Ever dodging the hands of time

Fly on, little wing.

Allure us with your distant smile.