To Speak

By Andrew R. Duckworth

We had great words to speak,
But our lips were pursed
In casual conversation,
Sewn shut by the sound
Of our own unsettling voice-
The boldness of which frightened
Friend, foe, and self,
So, we kept such words
On the highest shelf
Where clumsy hands
Could not reach,
Our fingers found unworthy.
We flew down from the highest branch,
Our wings undamaged,
But too timid to soar.
We perched near a tree stump.
The debate was never had
At a table in the garden
With a nice glass of wine
Amid the garden of roses
In fear of the thorns.
We had great words to speak,
But because we were weak,
We never reached the mountain’s peak,
Yet our wings have not been clipped.