THE  CONDOR

Over the endless granite rock of the Andes
Climbing sunwards to towering heights

Through high valleys and passes of copper
The condor rides thermals in flight

Their wings grant the spirit of freedom
Never bothered by walls of rock

Soaring high over the valleys in air
Flying endlessly in winds unlocked

The winds never say where they blow
But the condor soars with them to know

Upwards in thermals to the clouds
Downwards to the mountains below

The haunting melody of the condors
Known over the world as free

Not bothered by puny man
Their wings have never bent a knee

From North Of The 49th

This poem doesn’t stay still on the page; it moves upward, like something trying to escape boundaries it was never meant to accept.

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