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A Dream to Fly

by Eliza 

Posted: 07 April 2004
Word Count: 215
Summary: My short poem/story about a girl who wishes that she could fly.

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A Dream to Fly

There once was a girl who wished she could fly.
She lay in the grass watching birds in the sky.
She was so amazed when they spread their wings,
And soared through the air with the greatest of ease.
She dreamed of life so high in the sky,
And asked her mom,
“Mom why can’t I fly?”
The little girl’s mother
Tried not to laugh,
But this was a question
Unexpected to ask.
“Oh my precious little girl,
You are just discovering this great, great, world.
There are so wonders yet to see,
Some so amazing, you might not believe.
Birds possess a gift to soar,
With a beauty that people
Can watch and adore.
I wish I could teach you how to fly,
How to soar through the air,
And climb clouds in the sky.
I don’t know why birds have wings,
And I don’t know how a bird sings.
There are so many wonders
You have yet to find,
That will inspire more dreams,
And questions of why.”
The girl stood up and looked to the sky,
As she spread her arms and closed her eyes.
She stood in one place
But not in her mind,
Because she was dreaming a dream,
And in her dream…
She could fly.

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Comments by other Members

Nell at 10:08 on 01 July 2004  Report this post
Hi Eliza, welcome to WriteWords. I imagined this in an illustrated book for children, then had a look at your profile in which you mention poetry that you'd like to have made into a childrens' book with illustrations, so I think you're on the right track. The poem works well as it stands, there are some beautiful ideas and emotions here; the mother's love and the child's questioning mind and imagination come through strongly, the only thing I'd suggest is the use of slightly more creative language in places, and perhaps a surprising word or two - you could employ some unexpected verbs and adjectives (not too many of those!) and I believe then that this piece could realize its magical potential. Here's John Clare's Emmonsail's Heath in Winter, - I'm not suggesting you go as far as this - your piece is more modern, and for children, so you need to be careful, but it gives you some small idea of what I mean.

I love to see the old heath's withered brake
Mingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling
While the old heron from the lonely lake
Starts slow and flaps its melancholy wing,
An oddling crow in idle motion swing
On the half-rotten ash-tree's topmost twig,
Beside whose trunk the gypsy makes his bed.
Up flies the bouncing woodcock from the brig
Where a black quagmire quakes beneath the tread;
The fieldfares chatter in the whistling thorn
And for the haw round fields and chosen rove,
And coy bumbarrels, twenty in a drove,
Flit down the hedgerows in the frozen plain
And hang on little twigs and start again.

John Clare 1793-1864

NB: Bumbarrels are long-tailed tits!

gard at 21:36 on 06 January 2005  Report this post
HI Eliza

what a wonderful wisdom-ful magical piece!
So sweet and gentle
I agree with Nell
I could just see this
re-worked with illustrations for children.

isn't the poem by John Clare also beautiful. I
would wait a lifetime to wrtie something like that

keep writing!


lang-lad at 11:43 on 04 July 2005  Report this post
Hi, Eliza,
I pounced on your poem/story because ... well you'll see why in a minute. I'm intrigued that you, yourself, call this a short poem/story.
I wonder why you haven't gone one way or the other with it? Did it come out quite quickly on to the page ... or screen ... or wherever you write?
You're right, fo course - it's both poem and story. Is there a reason for that?
Do tell.
It's a while since you wrote it. Has it changed?

Now why did I pick this as a random read? I was discussing flying dreams only yesterday with friends, and sharing dreams and meanings. I think this has a pleasing simplicity and I wonder what, if anything, you've done with it since January.
Oh yes another reason for saying hi ...



where did I get January? April.


April 2004!

Zigeroon at 14:11 on 08 July 2005  Report this post

Came to this on the random read on the back of having listened to Paulo Cohello on Desert Island Discs and his belief in our ability to dream our own reality. Wonderful piece that gave an insight into a child's understanding that dreams and reality are one and the same thing. 'Reality' is an illusion. Why do we grow up?


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