Give me wings, to tred on many meadows.
To seek you, through rain, through snow, through sky.
To pad foot and prawl and prance.
And dance with you again.

You are fabulous, like the creeping cat of nightfall, 
grasping me, in the form of howling gails,
and charcoal black horizons.
You are beautiful, like the doe of silent, dew drenched 
clearings, lit and seen, only by your iris.
You are effortless, like the movement of a swift,
ground skimming, gone so fast, too precious to last.
You are free now, you have your wings, glorious in a new 
sun to shine, glide and go, to somewhere I cannot follow.

You heighten my dexterity, my senses, you keep my mind 
awake,
even though you're gone from this meadow.

I am a damaged diamond, left brave and hard, shattered by 
your apparent absence and deafening presence.
Some days I hate, my mental state, my eyes bleed 
and my vibe snarls.
This resentment towards those angels that took you, won't 
evaporate, I know why.
That journey I must face alone.
Acceptance is a settlement.

But when I sit, and saddness rushes over me, 
grounded in my meadow, I listen to the racing wind and 
kestrel call, and feel close to you once more.
Speak louder, sigh deeper, break through my minds' eye,
appear so that I might see you,
without wings, away from imagination, in your splendid,
Wingless,
human form.
So I can have you to hold. And simply be.
Surely the angels can sing just one song without you?

I love you, as I did then, I still do now, and will remain 
until we meet again.
Whenever that may be.
I believe some meadows are reserved, 
to only be discovered when we leave.
And our wings are just unseen.
Without you in one world, you are living more than ever.
And while I seek and search, and try to close the gap on 
our parted company.
I promise to remember. Although flightless.
I am never truely wingless.