I have left my journey too late.
The fall was too much like summer.
The food too plentiful
The wind too warm
as it whispered
sweet untruths to me.
The snows came
from a patient winter.
Covering the meadows
and trees.
Now the food was covered.
And the cold winds
cried a song of death.
The grey winter sky
contained no sweet thermals
to allow me to glide
in swooping graceful flight.
The southern climb
is too far for me travel alone.
The journey
over the sea too lonely.
The winter saw me
it wanted my tiny ilfe
it waited until I was fooled
and dreamt of endless summers.
and in my dream it brought
it's final justice