When The Last Flock Flies

The sky is Nature’s billboard,

Changing with the seasons.

Begging us to peer skyward

Offering us endless reasons.

Fall is fading, Winter looms ahead.

The birds are fat from endless feeding.

In fields and trees they hastily fed,

Readying for a southern greeting.

Squads of, black and red, rufous and white

Forming “V”s and lines so long;

Honking and squawking, day and night,

Composing a wondrous season song.

With haste the sky will turn its tune

From glorious sounds and singing wings

To winters snows and howling glum,

Leaving us the cold it brings.

Soon the fading V will be out of sight.

We’ll be gazing then at empty skies,

Wishing we could have joined the flight,

When the last flock flies.