Winds of the Past


fresh baby birds
lying in nest
Our Father watches over
a relic of the obstinate past

We tried to fly
tragedy came as a broken wing
He spoke not words, but fury
falcons don’t fail.

We stay in the tree, babies of our own
the wives bring food
He was always offensively present
hawks provide.

our own babies fly, but one doesn’t
We cry
Our Father mocks us
eagles aren’t weak.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem