Behold an August day
a flock of black ravens
flew their way
to freedom.

What else is in the air?
A flock of white falcons
flying in pairs
with the ravens.

I could tell it’s been hard,
for the ravens
have been scarred
from a storm.

A wild tempest
lasting years and years
there was no rest
to their fears

But they didn’t care
not anymore.
Even though their
wings are sore,
they will fly
evermore.

The one in front
I could barely see
but the way he flew
inspired me.

He was
graceful,
peaceful,
like every bird
was equal.

He sang a song
forgetting his past
singing
“Free at last! Free at last!”