Flocks of birds stay roosted
Round robin tables of tongues
Each of them play mocking jay
With songs the others sung
The roost doors remain open
Night sky glimmers bright
But despite the ruffled feathers
No jay is put to flight
They crow down from lofty rafter
Hem and haw from rungs
The flock titters from their tables
'Til the air flees from their lungs
Not a one will lift a wing
Nor give more than glancing eye
Fettered in unclipped feathers
Repeating their shared cry
YOU ARE READING
Poetics and Musings
PoetryJust a place to keep some original poetry. Feel free to leave feedback, I always am looking for it
