From the distant it's calling,
I hear it roaming,
Releasing the moment to fly,
To show each feather in glide,
But with these clipped wings,
Limitation sets it route,
Only a hop is admitted,
No distant to be seen,
Only the radius of what the chain allows,
A scar is formed,
Swollen and fearful of healing to nothing,
repeating again until released.
Sent from my iPhone
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