Coming and going
And going and coming
Resting a moment, a month or more.
Perfectly aerodynamically graceful
Scouring the heavens from shore to shore.
All feathers and stuffing
Yet able to travel for miles without puffing.
Swiftly or lazily crossing the sky.
Making one wonder
Just how do birds fly?
Followed by even
A deeper thought-why?
Are they of another world
Captured by ours
Bound by our atmosphere's limited powers?
Tirelessly wandering here and about -
Could they be searching
To find the way. . . out?