The Birds


The wind is blowing,
Through the night,
And holds witness to,
The birds in winter flight.

With many muted chirps and caws,
The birds streak through the sky,
In the night, darkness hides them,
Like so many shadows streaking by.

A single feather floats down,
Spinning in little twirls,
Landing in a pool of moonlight,
Shining like iridescent pearls.

This alone marks the passage,
Of birds in the moonlight,
Landing in a pool,
Free of shadows in the night.

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