I stare at my hands as I was asked the question,
So many turbulent feelings turned emotions,
What was my childhood dream as my mind begins to fade away to simpler times.

I dreamt of soaring high with wings of steel,
A pilot, cutting through the endless blue,
To chart the stars, touch clouds, and feel the wind,
But skies turned gray, my wings were clipped by fate.

A healer's gentle touch, to mend the broken,
To stitch the wounds that time and sorrow carve,
But sickness spread, and hope was hard to find,
The balm I held turned...