Upon the sky, a monarch soars, the eagle vast, whose spirit roars. A shadow streaks, a jealous cry, the brazen crow who dares to fly, and land upon that regal spine a pecking pest, a desperate sign.
It squawks and claws with petty might, to drag the noble bird from flight. But wisdom’s path the eagle knows: beyond the pain, beyond the blows. It does not turn, it does not fight, it climbs toward the sun’s great light.
Higher, higher, through silent blue, where winds grow thin, where skies are new. The air turns cold, the breath runs short, the crow’s weak effort comes to naught. With one last gasp, it starts to fall unnoticed by the eagle, all.
So let them peck, those envious souls who cannot reach your soaring goals. Don’t waste your strength in useless strife, on the petty battles of their life. Just rise above, and find your peace; let all their noise and malice cease.
For you were born to chase the sun, not wrestle with a squawking one. The sky is vast, the peak is high, and you, my friend, were born to fly.
