My people live to dig through Earth and soil
In the mines and caverns where we toil
Mother Earth is the only mother I have left
My childhood was lost in the greatest theft
Somewhere, I believe, is a bird that has my mother's soul
For the rest of her moves no more and stays within a hole
And so I hold close to the ground and cling dirt to my chest
To think of one so dear to me reincarnated within a nest
Is it wrong to think I will be able to fly during this life and not my next?
Is that not the way things shall go according to my people's ancient text?
As a mole it is natural for me to look above to those who can fly without aid
The birds of course, but also those people of another sky crossing clade
But to be able to go where one wants like a certain child has showed me
Was it a sign that I shall take a chance with forces that will set me free
For sometimes hope flies through blue skies on wings composed of feather
But sometimes hope flies through the night on wings which resemble leather.
