ON A BENCH AT A PARK

Sitting on a bench, gazing at the swallows fliting by,
they long, the open sky,
to float, a single breeze, they try;
most of our eyes are stuck on watching them fly.

Like these swallows, I want to float
in open air, my abnormality, no need to gloat.
Standing on the bench; ready to float.
Before, falling towards the ground, I clear my throat.

Alas, my wings have been waxed, they can't carry me!
Do not jeer! Let me be!
I must remain jolly and free.
Set the fact aside, that the blustry wind, can't up-root me!