How I wish I could just up and fly,
to anywhere that I see in my mind's eye,
or even wish that I could pass by,
without a care or worry knot to untie,
unbound under the clear cerrulean sky,
soar over puffs of white clouds so high,
and glide down to smell the fields of rye,
wing over the desert sand arid and dry,
on snow capped peaks, hear echoes of my cry,
to be a free bird and never to explain why,
to feel the wind beneath my wings till I lie.
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