With silver wings outstretched they fly 

And some will surely pass you by.

     They seek not food, shelter nor sleep

     But have appointments they must keep.

 

On wildest wind, on sweetest breeze

They’ll streak across the fields and trees.

     Who sees them travel?  No, not I

     And yet, somewhere, high in the sky . . .

 

So many travel to and fro;

Incessant torrents ebb and flow

    And, concealed from any human eye,

    They’ll whirl and dance across the sky.

 

Transported upon wings most strong

Their journeys can be short or long.

    They travel to the moon through space,

     Then vanish, leaving little trace.

 

They’ll speed along to you and me

Through cyberspace.  So now you see

     They’re not long-distance flying birds

     But what we humans most love: words.

 

Copyright on all my poems

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