It was not an era back,
That the bird decided to make a flight,
Out the world of bland desires,
with wings untamed,
wings of fire.
Every moment she flapped her feather,
to a higher cloud of a changing weather,
She was hit with storms and winds of malice,
But how can you fall if you were born to rise?
The bird fought them all with an enviable grit,
Making its way to the great summit,
But before it could perch the sky,
awaited the last challenge all above,
I wish she never fell,
never fell in love.
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