The gnarled and naked limb
Reaching for its sun
Within its graying fingers
The string, woven and spun
A joy from warmer days
Also hoping for the stars
Trapped within this wooden grasp
Leaving chafed and aging scars
Its urge to float diminished
But still aloft, it dreams
A strong wind still brings hope
But alas it always clings
Perhaps the knots will loosen
And one day the string shall fly
Or perhaps it twists forever
Grateful for its piece of sky
The Mewriginal 
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