The bird

A bird,
who merely,
by her shadow I know.

She flies,
atop my grain fields,
casting her shadow below.

I see her,
fluttering feathers,
in the vague outline.

But she above,
is lost in the ,
blinding sun shine.

I cannot,
hunt her down,
what good she will be then.

Nor can I,
en cage her,
that will destroy her instead.

So the only way,
to be with her,
is to grow my own wings.

And fly off to her,
rather than standing here,
lost in dreamy musings.