Angel Wings

I'm not surprised we give our angels wings:
It's not just flight we're after - after all,
Man can fly now, more swift than any bird
And higher too, past earth and clouds and sky,
But still the search for wings continues on.
In jetpacks, parachutes, gliders, kites,
Da Vinci's ornithopter, still is sought
The means to mount on high through man's own strength.
For what's the sky but empty blue expanse?
It's feathered wings we covet, not mere flight:
The sound of wings - all rushing like a falls,
Their look - so fierce and soft, like driving snow,
Their intricate design and perfect form -
How can we help but want a thing so sweet?
They give us more than sky, if not quite heaven,
It's power to move to choose, it's power to be!
The denizens of heaven may not be winged,
But even so, it's good enough for me.