I'm outside my home watching them birds fly high,
and try to catch them when they land then go.
I watch this show slowly breathing out a sigh,
knowing as they fly one thing they'll never know.
These birds of the Antelope Valley air,
flying seemingly without a worry or a care.
I get a certain pride inside as I sit and stare,
thinking to fly with them I'd pay any fare.
They are so beautiful, fast and sleek,
each one is individually unique.
As across the skies they streak,
at times it will make me feel a little bleak.
Some of these birds flying in the Antelope Valley after a bath and repairing,
still flying coming and going at times in a hurry,
with a piece of me deep inside or on a fairing,
Will always cause me to stop, look, salute, and worry.
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Author Notes
A Dualistic messaging poem on birds flying in the air by my home.
By George M
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