We all choose how we fly,
But there were times I feared
That you would fly with Icarus,
Your hot feathers unstuck from their glue.

But then you found your song,
Your music soared over valleys
And hugged the tight cliffs –
With just a few crash landings.

Your peregrine wings on jet streams swept the world.
Flocking with friends and resting in the eaves of strangers.
Avoiding lime traps and random guns,
One day you came home to England.

In an old mill, nested in hills, tides rise and sometimes overwhelm,
But when the sea retreats, the earth is soft and fertile,
The sun warms the ground and songbirds fill your room
Until it overflows with music rising in the strummed air.

We know that nothing lasts but nothing that is real is lost,
So, use your Icarus wings,
Find your sun-filled voice that sings
To the unstuck feathers.