Too much pain, too much and for too long.
The eagle can no longer see from two miles
high. He circles and circles hoping for
clarity. Then he glides downward and lands
upon the dusty earth--a stranger bound by
tears.
But time is a merciless friend. He is more
unhappy here, here lost in a land too con-
fining for his greater needs. For which is
worse: To shun the tears that wash away
the stinging sands of hurt or to weep for
screaming wings which do no longer feel the
upsurge of power and ancient strength? Oh
no...He sees it now and close up: Sing on
the wind. Cry in flight. Dip and swirl
and turn in circles over the clouds, but
fly he must for to be less than what he is
is to spoil the grandeur of his noble heart.
Love the tears as you love the flowing
waters. It is life's way of moving things
on, past the present barriers and out to
sea--to freedom