A flock of birds ride the sky
chasing circles, playing high
in the drafts where they all vie
for the currents drifting by
They don’t make a single cry
silent are the wings that fly
up ahead all futures lie
shifting air unbinds its tie
Wild winds the only sigh
scraping through a field of rye.
Feel the joy and don’t ask why
roving tempests all must die.
In each moment we rely
on a past that keeps us dry.
We collect what we call my;
think up worlds that we can buy.
Splashing sunsets need no dye
Wild life does not bake pie
Flocking geese don’t need to fry
Every moment sends reply
Not quite sure when I will try
to unlock well reasoned lie.
I can feel my closing nigh.
Guess it’s time to say good-bye.
Copyright Lynn Marie Sager 2008
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