In lenses tuned to fleeting flight,
Moments unfurl in feathered grace,
Wings paint arcs against the light,
In frames that time cannot erase.

Each beat of wing, a heartbeat caught,
Silent stories, motions weave,
Skyward dreams in flight, untaught,
In stillness, where they live and leave.

O lens that holds the wing's ascent,
In silent flight, the world defined,
Each frame a breath, a moment spent,
In skies where time and birds align.