Outside my window

The last leaves left clinging to a tree

Blowing against the bright sky are triumphant still


Fluttering relentlessly like one hundred starlings 

Practicing to take flight

Like the thinning hair of age

Each strand counting down to the final flight


This poem is about: 
My family
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741