She stood, her toes gripping the cliff edge
Each and every morning for six months long.
Stretching her wings allowing the warm up draughts
To catch, elevate and stretch, strengthen and mend
Her weakened wings.
At last there came a day.
Her toes gripping tightly
The rocky cliff face, she up rosé softly
soaring, carried away!
Having had completed wing repair.
© Calac
Chris Lane
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wing-repair/
