Swift wings are tipped with brief poetic gold.
Luminous flight sustains its fragile self.
The moment is as rare as a May frost.
Small glitters are enriched with their own charm.
The wonder of that appalachian gleam
Paints the bird's image on your window glass.
I think you understand the mood is now.
It has no will to ever come again.
Copyright,2009, Sandra Fowler
Sandra Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/swift-wings/
