Wings Poem by Jonatha Moya
Wings
Man has
a map of the galaxy
for his body,
a map of his genes
that are his universe.
He has
a defense or attack
for every chess move
housed in Watson's memory.
But precious of all,
he has
the ability to
grow crops,
to put water in the
hands of the thirsty,
to make
the right screws
to fit the peace machine
that makes our
better angels fly.
Friday, June 26, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: angels
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5/18/2024 6:51:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
