Poetry of Past Years - 1 of Many

A Natural Truth
The sun dances on the tips of my wings
The rain falls beneath
Never to sing
As I soar through the sky at a glide too steep
A tear rings in my eye
The stones on the sand I see as we meet
The rivers are flowing
But the desert is dry
The moon is up in the starry night
As the sun rests in the sky
The sand blows away
The grass is grown
Colors form and the dream continues on

-Leigha K