A wild bird's cry on morning air,
A path untrodden, free of care.
A ship that slips its mooring lines,
To chase the sun where new light shines.
A thought that breaks from mental chains,
And dares to dance in summer rains.
A voice that rises, clear and strong,
To right a long-enduring wrong.
It's in the wind that whips the trees,
The endless surge of churning seas.
It's in the quiet, inward space,
Where you can set your own soul's pace.
It is not given, never cheap,
Its seeds are sown while others sleep.
It's paid for with a heavy cost,
For futures gained and moments lost.
So guard it well, this fragile thing,
The soaring hope on Freedom's wing.
For in its breath, both vast and deep,
A world of promise lies to keep.
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