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I would call you a Glider
When engines let you down
You fly high on your own,
Wings, so you’ll always return

I would call you a Fighter
Despite every storm ‘n hurricane
Despite piercing drops of rain
You will always back again

I would call you a Hunter
Always in the right time ‘n place
Ready to hunt, ready to chase,
Beauty with no armistice

I would call you a Messenger
When our souls are empty
And, to the art, we’re thirsty
You flood us with beauty

Just like that white Tern
All these words you own.

by Müst Limpid

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