Fledglings,
Now long
From the nest,
Alight with grace for
A brief repast,
And well-earned rest;
Then secret away
Before December's threats.

Fleecy sheep
From the promise
Of Spring,
Are fatted and shorn
And  blithely waiting,
Will feed on corn
And winter grain
In straw-warm barns.

So you, with
Youth's eyes
Intent with queries,
Focus on
The coming seasons;
When the nest's
No longer home,
When the wool
Has yet to grow,
And the barn
Has lost its glow,
And cannot
Keep you
Warm.

Meet opportunity.
It's a subtle wink,
And briefer than
You'd like to think.
Look to your stars;
Leave earthly woes
Behind.