Ode to Age

It’s a velvet bed of grass

slowly morphing into a gravel path-

it’s a bird-call;

a forest trail, thorny;

fiery to burn your feet;

it’s when the heart sprouts wings

into unknown skies-

in a trice, as it were

the journey’s almost done-

winged heart alights

and shuffles along its precarious perch

on the rugged cliff of time-

and folding the wings it drinks to its fill

the heavenly twilight-

all the while

watching evening eddies

spreading into night-

 

Posted for my prompt Ode to Age @ Poets United Midweek Motif

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