From where come the dreams with which we are born...and to where do they go?
 

When she was young and wild She wished for wings, Begged the old ones with Their grey heads full of Miracles and magic To let her take to the sky, Soaring above the tents Carrying shadows on her back Like father crow and mother raven. They gave her wrinkled smiles While braiding feathers in her hair, Filled her mouth with sweet berries To still her magpie chatter and Chanted sing-song tales of long ago Until she remembered what it was To be a child and not a fledgling. When she was a young maiden, Long legged and graceful As an ibis stalking through Tall reeds next to the river, A proud warrior bound her To the ground with laughter That silenced the call of the sky, And he taught her to soar without Leaving the shelter of his arms. She raised fledglings of her own, Braided feathers in their hair and Fed them sweet purple berries, Sang them to sleep at night With sing-song tales of Swimming like grandfather turtle, The power and grace of brother wolf And soaring on an eagle’s wings, Until they learned what it Meant to live in a world Of magic and miracles, And that the young and wild Should always wish for wings.