I close the window.

There is a cold chill in the air,

The trees are bare,

And the birds flying away to the south

Leaving away this strange country

Once it was called their home


It was the place were they gave birth,

Grew and soared for the first time

Got shot, yet survived

And lost a fellow friend


Now they are migrating again

Leaving everything behind

Maybe they won't remember

But I will, for, once I was a bird

The only difference is they always return

But I never did.


The End

1,110 comments about this poem Feed