Filling the sky like circling black specks gently floating downwards upon a winter’s frosty sparkle snow,
They come again,
Always wakeful and never quiet,
Always just one more step ahead of the sleeping eyes who see,
They are the protectors and the observers of things more ancient than words could ever know,
They walk triumphantly in our midsts with loud ruckus calls to unseen forms that suddenly now dare not raise their troublesome heads to bother those in the worlds of beasts and men.
by, Howard G. Fass
No comments:
Post a Comment