Flight- By Laura Bath Yr 12


Optimism is a thing with flightless wings,

Just begging to find the skies,

A winter chill cannot freeze the desire,

Although the ice makes people doubt,


The sun is up and gone again,

Those wings still beat with rhythm,

The chill is rampant, vicious, cruel,

Webbed feet anchor to the ground,


Perched on inclines made of ice,

A flight was about to begin,

But instead of going up beyond,

The water ripples below,


With a thump, a splash, a calamity,

The wings slice through the cold,

A heart races the tide it’s under,

Not all skies are above.