Flying away

Sitting in the nick
of time, shooting the breeze
drifts over yonder, come back
in the day I had a dime
in the hand, worth five, in the bush
where the buffalo's roam, free
as a bird, on the wing
of a prayer - the dove,
 a promise of peace
on earth, love, beauty
and the beast.

 Slain is the dragon
as he lies panting after me
and I loosen my shackles
fall heavily to ground and I fly.
I fly and fly
and fly.