She dreamed of buying wings.
Of soaring, o're the ocean.
But she married, And she loved, And she birthed.
She looked out the window, and watched the birds soaring.
She dreamed of buying wings.
Of soaring, o're the ocean.
But she fed them, And she watched them, And she worked.
She taught the little ones how to swim, and marveled at the beauty of
the clouds.
She dreamed of buying wings.
Of soaring, o're the ocean.
But she learned, And she saw them grow, And she saw her face - her
mothers.
She found a little time in-between loving them all, and she watched the
sun descend majestically into the sea.
She dreamed of buying wings.
Of soaring, o're the ocean.
But she was old, And she was tried, And all she had was love.
She found that was enough, that she didn't need wings, but still she
watched the sky.
She dreamed of buying wings.
Of soaring, o're the ocean.
But then she died, And she was mourned, And all who knew her missed her.
She was free, they told themselves, she had dreamed of buying wings.
And she had found them.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Variach, in the year 114 MA.