The quill that wrote our freedom inked in blood,
Each stroke a feather fallen from the fight—
We birds of different plumage, different brood,
Yet all born yearning for the selfsame flight.
The flying machine defies what gravity demands,
A steel rebellion against the pull of earth;
We built our wings with bruised and trembling hands
And paid in everything to prove our worth.
Now watch the plunge: that dive from sky to sea,
Where air surrenders to the water's weight—
The edge between two worlds, where we are free
For one suspended breath before our fate.
Some birds were born to swim, and some to soar;
The brave ones learn to live between, and more.