The Leading Bird - Marketa Irglova

Clouds descend on grass grown wild

Tall and grand, lush in hand

They bend in air as man in prayer

I’m weaving through, trying to get to you

I’m running past birds of dawn

They sing like heaven, they’re leading on

Yet I don’t see slow motioned wings

Like gold in sun, how it could be won

White as snow silk-feathered doves

Eternal glow, they easily know

That life is grand in all its shapes

Wether it gives, wether it takes

That I am you, you are me, and

Loving grace can set us free

From sprinting far, above, beyond

Being our own strong magic wand