Birds

I've noticed one thing when reading past work.

There's an animal that drove the poets beserk.

It's a reoccuring thing.

And it had the burdens of the world on its wings.

The birds that these men wrote about.

Ingrained in our minds without a doubt.

They may flap about or glide around.

Light as a feather or heavy as a pound.

But they each have their place.

Filling the page with style and grace.

These birds that flutter in the sky.

Taking the reader so damn high.

These men were sure more than smart.

Making a common creature a work of art.

Described in detail from talon to beak.

Each one's image is made unique.

The birds nesting in their minds.

With such curiosities to find.

Whether an obsession or a jaunt.

Those fowls were made to haunt.

We remember them for what they've done.

Their sillouettes moving across the sun.

Or within the stars of the night.

Those men were the birds taking flight.