Migrations
In the meadows above timberline
little rivers flow
from melting snow on granite,
looking not unlike
the lights of town.
Only jets fly here
and trains of Canada geese
going home.
Silver wings turned gold
from the days setting sun.
Firing homeward through low pressure zones,
dancing
with each sweep of wings.
Slipstreaming
in perfect northern flight.
How the nights must linger on
for sleepy honkers and creaking jet liners.
Copyright © 1975 by Roger Patrick Ewing, all rights reserved.
2 responses so far ↓
1 Karen Crystal // Oct 10, 2009 at 9:57 am
Thanks for sharing. I like it. Peaceful.
2 dana // Oct 20, 2009 at 8:01 am
this is my favorite~
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