• Why doest thou floating cloud taunt me?
    Floating, floating on the breeze,
    If not but what seems a finger tip away,
    Yet not a grasp can I maret.

    Does so the dove, cooing up on high,
    Its bold feathers a flapping.
    It too now taunts me,
    I ponder: Why must this be so?

    Till I could no longer endure,
    A leave caressed into the wind, biding adu,
    And fell back to earth,
    It to forever shackled.

    Why can we not too, fly?
    O Why, O why?