Migration

The big silver bird gorges them
as they migrate to the sun,
away from the winters gloom
and into sunshine and fun.
Hundreds wait in queues
waiting for their call
to migrate south for the winter.
Off to climates warm
the great birds soar across the blue skies,
to where ever their destiny lies
on their migration to the sun.

2 March 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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