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Seven years ago
A friend saw these wings
On the bark of a seven times seven
Year old tree...
Seven years later
Their re-emerging
Graced me with the harbinger blessing
Of fleeting things,
Of encounters with the Elusive,
Prized precisely because
of their ephemeral nature
Treasured for their rarity...
Whether once in a lifetime
Or once every seven years,
How Precious are the wings we are given,
In whatever form they come...
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"He who holds to himself a joy
Doth the winged life destroy,
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise."
-William Blake
