and fell plummeting back down to earth.
Luckily, he remembered he was still wearing his wings
and started flapping them
just before he hit the pavement of a parking lot.
He flew directly home, removed the wings at once,
and hid them in his garage
under a piece of canvas in the loft above his red Mustang.

That night Mr. Cameo thought he heard the sound of weeping
coming from somewhere outside and then a very mournful voice said,
over and over, "My wings, Mr. Cameo. My wings."
Mr. Cameo was frightened, but he didn't want to give them back.
The voice grew sadder, "My wings, Mr. Cameo.  My wings."
This disturbed Mr. Cameo and made him melancholy
but he still didn't want to give them back.
Never in his lifetime could he invent something like these wings.
This happened again on the next night and the night after that
but on the fourth night the voice was silent, and there as no weeping.
Alarmed, Mr. Cameo hurried out to his garage
and climbed up the ladder to check on his wings.
He lifted the canvas.  The golden wings were still concealed there
like two sleeping children curled around each other.
Relieved, Mr. Cameo went back to bed.

He rose at dawn, put on his wings, and flew up into the air
going higher than his house, higher than the very old maple trees