Oh, mighty eagle, I sorrow.
Your broken wings hold you down.
What calamity befell you
That pins you to the ground?
Was it your relentless pursuit
Of the desires of the flesh?
Or a reckless abandon for
Keeping up with the rest?
Now that you cannot fly,
Was your pursuit worth this pain?
Even if you achieved your goal,
Would you be satisfied with the gain?
Or would it make you seek and crave
Something better, something more?
A future robbed of flight sounds like
Poe’s raven’s word, “Nevermore.”
But is it true there’s no hope for you?
Can your broken wings ever heal?
There is a cross-shaped tree
That promises hope to become real.
Make this tree your new residence,
And your wings will quickly mend.
Perspective and priorities change.
The God you hated is now your friend.
For it was God who made that tree
To change from its evil purpose.
To become a symbol to this very day
Of sacrificial love and service.
Please, mighty eagle, go to the tree,
You’ll have a new life once more.
We’ll all rejoice in seeing
Once broken wings can now soar.