When the Birds Fly Home
Image Credits: Pexels When the birds fly home, When the sky's a splash of pink and orange, When the sun slips away behind the horizon. When the leaves have all turned brown, And the trees are all bare, Will you know that I still care? When the bitter cold engulfs this land, And I still write your name across the sand, Will it still make a difference? An endless cycle of migration, year after year, Yet, I cannot say if you are in my future. I wish I could predict the times ahead for us. But promise me, when the birds fly home, And the times we've shared are but a distant memory, You'll look back and remember, under this same sky, That I remain a part of a tiny portion of your life.