By Verana
Winged creatures crouching there,
Longing to glide through the night's air,
Atop buildings and roofs, we have no proof,
But some of them seem to move.
They guard by day,
At night, they play,
Roaming the skies of their home.
While guarding, they seem so alone,
The extent of their loneliness is somehow unknown.
They long for acceptance, they long for respect,
So far, not one has gotten it yet.