BATTLE WEARY

I soared above the mountains high
I plucked the stars and sparks of nigh
Yet now I flutter on fettered wings
The wind beneath stilled

Crash-landed on the moon
Devoid of sustenance
Empty at the core

Emptied

Where is the next filling station
That ttempts to replace my
Fountain of Youth?

I must rest and eat as Job
To be battle-ready for the next
Craggy Corner I may land

Yet the logger needs an oak to lie on,
the birds, nests
I stumble in the savanna,
My staff a hissing snake