Happy is the bird who flies into the
star lit sky.
From every where the darkness glows,
as far as meets the eye.
So high up in the heavens, far above
the ground.
He is followed in formation, by those
who hear his sound.
Where does direction come from; who
tells him where to go?
Not comprehending what or why; he only
knows to flow.
No bright ideas to call his own, he's never
made a plan.
But there will be no snow upon the ground
where he will land.
I agree below. An outstanding write. Read mine - Frustrated Plans - Adeline
Absolutely beautiful instinctual write! Precise, thoughtful and original.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I truly applaud your style and the ideas of your poems. Read mine - Brush Strokes - Adeline