A Bird In Winter
A tragic hero in the perennial play
here tomorrow, gone today
A mere shadow in the Western sky
such a long sojourn but a brief
goodbye,
The treetops whisk the opaque planetarium
as the poignant gyroscope rotates into
delirium,
Birds turn South, leaves turn red
like a flame that burns bright before growing
dead,
A call out, among the torrent
lost in the waves, wind, and
current
The cacophony has been muted
a silent status quo has been rooted,
What little remains for the stranded
lost and alone,
exploited and branded.
Copyright © Andrew Jones | Year Posted 2015
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