As I gaze into the dried up yellow field,
I see 2 lonely cranes
Trying to find their way home.
They call out to their friends,
But no one answers back.
With the sun beating down
Hard above the blue skies,
The wind chills the air
as it whistles by.
Right when all hope
Is almost lost,
The call is returned
And the cranes find their way home.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
As I gaze into the dried up yellow field,
I see 2 lonely cranes
Trying to find their way home.
They call out to their friends,
But no one answers back.
With the sun beating down
Hard above the blue skies,
The wind chills the air
as it whistles by.
Right when all hope
Is almost lost,
The call is returned
And the cranes find their way home.
Final Revised Poem
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