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The Glider

The canyon is golden on the tip of my wing,
With a thought I am caught in a climb;
I roll to the right and descend as I sing,
Flying free as a hawk in his prime.

With all I posses I feel for a lift
To rise to where the angels reside;
I looked on the eagle and borrowed his gift,
And the same I became with a glide.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.

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