Broken Wing

If there is a moment you call your own.
If there is a time you can hold in your hand,
Soothing the broken wing that had once flown
Far over these green hills where you stand

Looking out, over towards the distance
Where the land lies like a possibility
That would dance for you, entrance
You with its open ability

To become a world, just for you
To shape into this particular form,
Unlike this old world. Something new
That turns from this coldness to the warm.