Flock of birds

Spinning swirling flying swooping

Winter approaching but yet so far

The hillsides are dry with green afar

The farmer reaps but yet he sows

Seedlings planted all in rows

Another gift was yet discarded

Flew for miles left broken hearted

Trees planted on sides of roads

Then left to fend amongst cattle and toads

Climb those steep hills

Take in the cool air

Feel it in your chest

Now it’s time to rest

Watching the birds again

Effortlessly gliding and swooping as once again

You struggle to understand the why

You’re so wry yet painfully shy

Climb the hill what’s on the other side

Greener pastures I heard the cries

Go forth make the change

You whisper as the chain

Slowly unravels from ankles

Sailing adrift without any paddles

The calm descending on quiet thoughts

Not a breeze to rustle leaves as something caught

Your eyes a twinkle

With every wrinkle you realise

Now it’s time