I spread my wings one rainy day
and flew out across the lands.
The ocean crashed against the sands -
the whitest kind, they say.

I saw a boy out on a shoal,
skipping out of waters reach.
His dog was sitting on the beach
a steadfast, faithful soul.

I beat my wings once every mile
and rejoiced in feeling free.
The ground, a gleeful farming spree,
a green-brown patterned tile.

As king of kings I roamed the sky
and above the lakes I raced;
uneven azure gems embraced
by golden fields of rye.

A shot was fired from the grain -
spurting hearts blood; searing pain.
My ending deemed by man humane;
for a feather I was slain.