How longinly to the horizon do my eyes search.
A flightless bird, perched on a dying white birch.
"Oh how do I wish to fly."
To chase my destiny across the endless sky."
"What more do you need?" My tree speaks.
"Have I not all you need? What is it that you seek?"
"Tis not material needs." I whisper to the tree.
" I long for the possibility of what I could be."