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When the world

weighs upon the mind

it is hard to dream of anything higher

When claws

grip the bitter grubs of earth

it is hard for a bird to claw toward the sky

When eyes are raised toward heaven

it is easier for wings to catch the spirit wind

and flap away from the sin-cursed ground

In times of soaring

it is hard to be nostalgic for the safety of dirt

that prevented the possibility of pain

but also prevented the miracle of flight

and the song of freedom

that is only released in flying