When "Thomas the Rhymer" writes of genius so fetter'd
That 'tis better to fall to a flaming-wing'd death,
I'm reminded that even a poet so letter'd
Can oft miss the Joy of a simple life-breath.

The Earth is much more than a prison's foundation.
It cradles meadows and forests with life richly fill'd
And genius, though shining, can lead to damnation.
His envy aroused, Daedelus so easily kill'd.

'Tis better, I'm certain, to ride the wind lightly,
Still watching the Earth, so wide and so grand
Free from the fetters that bind the soul tightly,
And yet live on in freedom, once in sight of land.

Yes, death (brave or foolish) may grant us memorial,
Driving painters to paint, and poets to sing,
But all of that beauty, whether words or pictarial
Is cold comfort indeed next to Death's bitter sting.

And when "Thomas the Rhymer" signs his verse with *Big Sigh*
My heart is sore troubled. I must ask: "My friend, Why?"