Fly and fly high, said to itself
When its leg hurt, and the weather shiny.
Where the skies free, and no bird flies;
Yet, it kept going
Chirping loudly as the hungry do.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That goes down to find food for its chicks.
On the trees its chicks are,
Making sweet sound
Awaiting the mama bird.

Afar they saw;
Out of energy, coming home.
The mama bird is back!
With wound on the leg, and cry on the face,
It came to rest.

© Isaac Gyasi