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| Photography : Sergey Parishkov |
Wings of servitude withered away,
Burnt by courage in a stunning display.
Pain so intense, I must endure;
Afore lay freedom, my life secure.
Angel, without her power of flight.
Tragic! Others perceived my plight.
Never again the rush of wind in my hair,
On an errand in the service of another.
Fools! For though I was winged
My fate in another's hand weighed.
Poisoned gift, it was that I discarded
I'm my own is all that I regarded.
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