One set is mine, my own,
the pair that was meant to grace my shoulders
since the very moment I was conceived.
My wings are big, bright, a bit too quick to judge
and a bit too reckless, but reliable in most cases.
The feathers are always a tad bit ruffled,
but they are sturdy and able to fulfill their duty.
The other pair is smaller, dimmer, gentler.
Instead of belonging to a full grown creature,
they suit an infant; tiny and full of possibility
but not strong enough yet to take their own flight.
This pair hides beneath the shadow of the first.
Despite their minuscule size though, the second pair are heaviest,
far outweighing the might of the first even though
they're barely a fourth of the width.
For my second set of wings is meant to be a burden,
meant to weigh me down and make things just a tad bit harder.
But despite the weight, they're still beautiful in their own right.
It's a task I have no choice to bear, but I would never trade it away.
I feel like a bird with two sets of wings,
but at least it helps me to fly just a little bit higher.
