Hundreds of those small black birds
Soaring above a golden hill
Grass dead, as they thought they were,
Laying there watching
No sound
Until the roaring
Unmistakable,
Overhead the screams
The flapping of the wings
Forcing the air once more into their lungs
Postponing yet another collapse
and they faced the breeze renewed.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Hundreds of those small black birds
Soaring above a golden hill
Grass dead, as they thought they were,
Laying there watching
No sound
Until the roaring
Unmistakable,
Overhead the screams
The flapping of the wings
Forcing the air once more into their lungs
Postponing yet another collapse
and they faced the breeze renewed.
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