November 23, 2011
By Roryrose GOLD, Old Town, Maine
Roryrose GOLD, Old Town, Maine
10 articles 0 photos 1 comment

I'm a baby bird
Longing to fly away,
But lacking flight feathers.
It's Autumn,
The trees are flaming
Their oranges, reds, and golds
I've got the urge for going
But I haven't the freedom to go
The nest I once loved
Now feels foreign to me
My summer ways have vanished
With the warmth,
I've got nothing
But the sound
Of the wind in the trees,
The pitying honks of the geese
I so envy for their wings.

The author's comments:
Everyone gets melancholy in the fall.

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