Free to fly

Trees alive

Three to spy

No man strive

A believe in the beauty of the sky

Where no man ever drive

So says with pride

There is no lie

In the welcome of the arrived

Oh! Is it high to sigh?

Surrounded by the mights in height

Written memos of the nights we fight

All sorry but no sorrow

These indeed are the edges

Edges of the morrow

Edges of awaiting smiles

Long past the laments of today

Let no man seek when he speaks; for such is a weak

Clear that we saw;  the deep thought of pride

Bringing down the mights in height

Such a guardless guide

Sweeps away the reputation of the sky

What noise have got the birds? When the atmosphere is lost; and the feathers become worthless

There we see; the eagle similing the hen

What then remains of the pride?

The pride of the eagle

Look now the mightiness of the hen.