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Feathers ruffled, the bird sits

With friends, though they are alone.

They want to go home,

It is too hot here in the Sun,

But the cold is too painful,

Too bold of an expression to handle.

Not yet.

The seasons are set,

They will pass,

Because in the end,

Nothing truly lasts.

We are all temporary,

Permanent in pain.

We are all hopeful,

Feeling the same.

So the bird flies off,

Away from the Sun

Back home.

And though it is a

Trek, they do not

Mind to roam alone


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