For her wings were torn, broken..
Futile.
He mended her wings as if a mother kissed a child\'s cut.
Unfurled her wings she did so and white and scintillating they were.
As if a siren lured her sailor into the afternoon crimson sea,
As if the child\'s cut was magically healed.
She dispersed her wings yet she did not fly.
For she\'d rather stay on land with her mender,
Rather than soaring through the lonely sky.