Paper Wings

I made a pair of paper wings for you
plucked them off the tree I grew,

from summer to spring the leaves changed:
the basic DNA structure rearranged.

Through hurricanes and typhoons
to burning hot afternoons,

I tried to protect my fragile gift
from ripping weather and temperature shift.

Finally I give these wings to you,
with some feathers slightly askew,
Some rips and tears pulling through,
and maybe a green leaf or two--

but I needed to give them away quickly
lest they fall apart completely,
because as I wrap them, they still smell sweetly

and make me think of you.


--
You looked innocent and pretty, you looked like a whole new person, very beautiful. I think of you guys alot.
I think of how it used to be.

I need a pair of paper wings.