Two notes were caught in the breeze,
Their paper wings spread as they
Dragged shadows over grass.
The flight of words
In light of youth,
Whipped by sudden gusts of fate or chance,
Fled the cusp of afternoon as
The day bell rang.
Four legs pounced to meet the call
And left the birds in uncertain grace.
The pointed faces of the notes,
Delivered by providence, in faith.
Comments about this poem (Osprey Meadows by Matthew Thomas Donovan )
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