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For Rebecca Lueke
One bitter cold December morn
A fledgling raven in her nest
“To fly…” she dreamt, “To fly!”
A fluttering heart her sable breast
Could scarce contain. Headlong she leapt
And swooping touched
The snow’s first winter fall.
The forest silent fell. Behold,
A tender palm her downy plumage caught
And bore aloft to heights no eye can scale.
“No nest can house a fearless heart,”
God whispered as her wings, unfurled,
Fanned out across the blue.
“Your wish is granted,” said He then,
“Seek out a higher sky.
For it is my eternal will
That ravens fly on high.”