Ode to Winged Flight
So not to miss the miracle outside my door,
From darkness into morning light I dive
to catch a glimpse of broad-winged avians, I strive.
They’re graceful as they synchronize o’er shore,
Arising up as seaside waters shimmer,
To soar above the silver, slim-fish swimmers.
They, silent, scale so high they seem to nearly stall
between the sun and my line sight, then, swooping, fall.
But sailing effortless in broad swept arcs they glide,
Without a map to guide their transverse slide,
I, blessed to share their beauty, know all’s right,
I’m told by silhouettes against the bright.
Writing 201: Poetry Day 5: Map, Ode, Metaphor
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