Set down your pen,

Look to the sky,

At the birds around you

And how they fly.

Their wings of paper

Their calls make words.

Words that float in the air

And settle on the ground,

To be later picked up

And passed around

By an artist anew;

Molded to new shape.

He becomes a hero

Though he wears no cape.

And all this started

With a simple look

At the sky around you

And the birds of books.