Constanza Wonder
Migrating birds are on the fly.
As cacophonus sounds are heard
I long to hug each little bird.
Their numbers darkening the sky,
So many that I cannot count.
None left behind is paramount.
As I see how they multiply,
I wonder how they find their way
And their return again some day.
I'm wondering the where and why.
Is it the Great Creator's hand
That holds the map they understand?
So many miles before them lie,
Reminding me of those who roam
Without a thought of writing home.
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Migrating birds are on the fly,
Their numbers darkening the sky
And as I see them multiply,
I'm wondering the where and why
So many miles before them lie.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2012
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