Come, bird, give me wings. Lift me— if you can— out of my earthly passions, vanities, restraints. It is you I envy. Even when you fight with your brother, or mate, it is lightning quick, striking: two pairs of wings fluttering against each other in a feathery dance. Just as quickly, each of you flies away, free, unburdened by who got the worm. The worm is just a piece of earth. You know the truth: to be grounded is to be mired, stuck in a foundation that is not stable anyway. You stay only long enough to taste before returning to the calm wings of the air.