The Crane

The Crane

By: Pi Kielty (posthumously)

Found: June 14, 2015

Oh, Noble Crane, please heed and hither my fated all, that I wither not beneath your path, the admiring one that rings the call. Fretted, you fly so greatly high, this June's twilight, the graying clear sky: You pass too far above my grasp. I yearn to flight with you so fast.

My friend, the Crane, blue whip't a'winged, seeking nightly nest repose, I feel the quiet unheard rapt, a graceful pedaling, supposed, a song in windward tap. Too far high from my ears, I wish to hear you flap, along you flying through our precious years, too soon, too fast, again today, again you go a'gone.

I must, I cleave, the ground this day, but reaching ever upward, to your supple claw in talon, seeking to grasp my hand, that dreams may state their lonely say, me below on standing land. I surely ask the airy loam to lift me toward the sun you flee, setting now upon our westward. If unarmed, I'll let you soar, freeing loves untendered. Prayers we need to grap't our path, each one a willing wholesome half, as if we joined. . . intended.