Song for a late bird

At least, my friend, you flew;

stroked heaven, broad and blue;

spread wide your agile wings;

of air, became the king.

So high you must have soared;

through small eyes seen much more,

the wide world far below,

than most will ever know.

Perhaps your soul's soared free;

perched high in heaven’s tree

but, whether or not that’s true;

at least, my friend, you flew.