The Paper Crane Maker

There it was gliding in the cold dusty breeze

A thin film of paper unable to cease

It touched ground briefly, but was quickly whisked away

To once again frolic in tumultuous play

 

Pulling it free from the gusty clasp

She carefully ironed it in her gentle grasp

She folded, tucked, and folded it again

To skillfully create a beautiful paper crane

 

“Divine is yourself,” she whispered in the ear

The divine in all she taught it to revere

“No more will you flip and flounce about

Stand up to every draft that passes your route”

 

Nurtured and cared for, it was ready to ride

Taking gusts and gales in its confident stride

For its thought, its mind, its self was whole

Endowed with the strength of an enriched soul

 

Extending its wings it began to fly

Up and away into the sparkling blue sky

On reaching the clouds, what sight did it see?

But  a hundred such cranes cruising with glee

 

As for her she walks, she walks on by

Another leaflet to teach to fly

A view unparalleled how fortunate I am to see

Paper crane maker, dear teacher, a salute to thee

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