Whiplash migration, filling the branches
one day, on their way the next, so quick it seems,
four weeks flying by as fast as the flash
of their yellow posterity, moving in dreams
from south to north to south again with stops
and light refreshments. Free music. Dancing.
Life, nothing fancy, but sweet all the same,
the simplest warble and a two-step shuffle,
easy going charity with yellow patches
on the elbows of their sleeves and in the press
of their hats. Plain folk simply passing through
with an unexpected splash of country
flare, nothing fancy but sweet all the same,
and only memories with the next flight south.
from Thirty Birds
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