B reathless each day the winged ones burst and unite into the twilight frieze--
I s there a more delicate touch to the sight than the songbirds as they take to the sky?
R eveling while entwined with the tailwinds-- delighting the indigo breeze,
D ashing on the last rays of sun to nip the laziest mosquito on the fly --
S ong of the satisfied sung—they fade into the welcoming night bosom of the trees.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©