Birds Flying Poem by James McLain
Birds Flying
Fields of birds are gone, fumes of exhaust surround me.
I cannot see your window, the young are around me.
My door is left open, the sun grows cooler.
No wine to comfort me, I go to bed earlier.
My eyes water, thinking of you now gone.
Passion of flame, steel this concrete famed.
Gone are the arteries, now mud remains.
Bulldozers not of life, forsake the young and bury the old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 3:00:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
