Copyright, 1998, Linda A. Miner; All rights reserved.

Perched upon the gargoyle's nose,
the city spread below.
The breeze which slid warmly by -
it thrilled the mind and soul.
So quiet way up here -
so undisturbed and calm.
The tiny cars below and lights,
they proved a somber balm.
To ride the wind o're trees and roofs
to swoop, to glide, to fly!
Naught else would bring such joy -
naught else would satisfy.
Oh, to be that tiny bird -
my life, she envies not.
Nor cares she how I might yearn
to share her treasured lot.

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