Freedom

Freedom

by Henry Eaton

I saw an eagle flying past,

Soaring and wheeling, high and fast

And thought to myself,

How wonderful to see, sleek,

And wild and, happily, free.

And I pondered his life, the

Places he's been, the mountains,

The seas, the things he's seen.

I envy his freedom to 

Come and to go, to soar to the

Heights, and swoop so low.

And hope that his kind

Will continue to fly, to flourish

And grow, and grace the sky.

I was going through some things, and found this picture that a dear friend sent me of my Dad, one year before he passed away. My Dad was originally from Massachusetts and loved the mountains. Over time, he truly came to love the beach, and spent much of his last year there right after he retired. About that time, the bald eagles were starting to come back to the Chesapeake Bay region, and he told me that he had seen eagles at the beach house. The poem above was written by my uncle, and we read it at my Dad's memorial service.