<written in a weird, metre-less rhyming scheme of my own invention>
A golden beam of sunlight streams
Through my window, and it gleams
Upon my arm atop my lap.
As usual do I sit here and as usual do I stare
At the world outside, squint-eyed against the glare,
When you land on the sill, dear friend.
'Birds' they call you wondrous things,
Fanning the world with your wings,
The endless sky your playground.
As your beady little eyes
Regard me with wary surprise
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| Image courtesy: Davidap2009 (Flickr) |
Darting all across my face,
I wish that, when I speak, O friend,
You'd quite clearly comprehend
My aching heartfelt plea to you:
Winged angel, I beg you to listen;
This wheelchair is my prison,
And this dim room is my world.
My feet fail me; lend me your wings,
That I may see the million things
I see within my dreams alone;
That I may swoop across the sky,
And--as I look down, from up high--
Feel strength and freedom, just this once.
At least, my friend, stay for a while,
That I may dream and I may smile,
And let my mind and spirit soar.
