Poem By Leo Wyatt

Swooping ceaselessly; swallows,
gleaning the seed laden reeds,
are summoned by something
tangible on the breeze.
The imperative call to congregate
for their autumn equinoxial flight.
Gathered together - a toccata
played on staves
of tautly twanging wires.

Dawn. The elliptic flock ascends,
eclipsing the rising sun.
Its radiance, refracted
on swarming, whirring wings.
Warmer southern shores - the spice scented
aroma of Africa borne on the air,
urges them still onwards. Famished, forged
by desert furnaces …
toward a sun-baked land. Feb 08

Comments about Horizons

Nice poem enjoyed it very much lovely cont thanks Chris 10

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