A whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh,
an endless story penned in blood and tears.
The eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.

We tell a tale of women, you and I,
connected womb to womb across the years:
a whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh.

In watching you, I learned that I could fly.
The earth beneath our feet belied my fears—
the eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.

Our silent story stands in mute reply
to life, a song in stillness; I can hear
a whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh.

If I track your gaze and even pass it by
I’ll never in this life lack for frontiers.
The eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.

Someday I hope another daughter’s cry
will echo in my arms and toward your ears,
a whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh;
the eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.