Where is the warm weed that I rose above?
I--a naked bird; and my body lies
as my skin cries, and I look at my blood--
Bleeding and weak, and I alone, must rise--
My wings stretch and bellow! Yet I feel cursed--
What am I? It feels wrong, for I was weak
and now lost! I fly down, but scratch my corpse,
It falls apart, and I, without I, scream--
This strange form which hath newly wrought for I
Like that armour's tight steel traps me in strength
Demands my command and that I shine
While those goslings cry as whom I must save!
There lies his corpse; left I with fear anew
And know myself not, that weed forced to bloom.
