Snow falling on their outstretched wings,
They play in the cold, winter air
Over the gradually whitening rooftops
Of the human world to which
They occasionally retire.

As the falling white leaves behind
The pale blue of a February sky
And the promise of the glare
Caused by a low Sun, they follow
The departing clouds as they are
Swept away behind the factories and
Bare trees that form my horizon.

I am left alone to survey
The panorama of naked sky
From within my clothed, enclosed home.
Protected from the breeze, I watch it
Play with the extremities of
Distant trees, and carry back some of
The sky's avian explorers.

Trees and houses begin to glow as
The westward clouds part to
Enable the glorious return of
The Sun from casting its
Light elsewhere.

The remains of the snow are
Melted from feathers by the light
As the birds continue to soar
High above the world I inhabit,
Their eyes seeing more than
Mine ever will.

02/22/2005

Posted on 02/22/2005
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince