We rise like rockets in the night.
Some of us explode in fiery glory
And some of us reach secret height
To see the wonder of the Sun.
No matter how high the trajectory
At end we fall, and it is no matter
That we fall and shatter as we rose
Or drift down back as fragment particles.
Our life is the flight, the pierce of night
To sense the atmosphere, the stars
And know we are the finger of delight
To know the flight.