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.

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