One must wonder,

How a scar can hold wings.

From the amber skies,

The feathers give birth to ashes...

As they wonder in soaked grass,

They learn how to attach to themselves.

While the sun whispers their name in July,

The sweat will make them grow.

As the baby becomes a muscle,

The brass will also become of gold.

When they spread across valleys,

The world will welcome their eyes to such beauty.

The angel wings touch broken avenues,

And fly's over dead ends.