Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind -- But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested, the snow is covered with broken seedhusks and the wind tempered by a shrill piping of plenty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE DECISION (APRIL 14, 1861) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BUCOLIC COMEDY: FLEECING TIME by EDITH SITWELL HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 2. CAMBODIA by KAREN SWENSON |