I

If I grew wings and flew away
Into the darkness that stole the day
And hid its light in its belly,
Would the daisies weep,
Or the merry trout in the stream,
Or even the manky feline
I’d taken under my wings
Thence deprived of its twice daily meals?

II

Perhaps they would not,
And that’s a somber thought,
Right up there amongst all the others –

For there’s something to be said
About wishes that are dead,
Because they are so impossible.

They are perchance,
The soulful ballad,
Of desolate hearts
That haven’t known rest.