"The Birds," A Poetry Post

When you've
flown
for six months
with your
full
wingspan
outstretched
and
contracting;
been buoyed up
by
wind
currents on
myriad
continents;
seen
the
water's color
change
again and
again;
passed
over
the
migrations
of those
departed
before you;
perched
only sporadically
to
eat a
quiet morsel;
worn out your
lungs and chest muscles with
deep breaths and
cold morning air;
endured the
storm surges and
late night flights...

When you've been flying
for a long, long time...

You have to
touch down
somewhere
and rest.

You have to
touch down
somewhere
and rest.

-T. D. James-Moss