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...SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON DISDAIN RETURNED by THOMAS CAREW SONNET: FOR INSPIRATION by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI HARMOSAN by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH A SLUMBER SONG by A. HOLCOMBE AIKEN |