Stretched across a steel grey sky,
suspended, held in motion,
November’s “V” shaped lines of peace,
eternal, together, broken.
Whispered through the firmament,
a rustled hush of wings,
purposed rowing, stroking home,
calmly metered autumn dreams.
Harvest stubble left to fields
in gently woven tawny rows,
counts the lea twixt bearded forests,
passing o’er the few perched crows
who claim a bleacher fence post,
chatting, calling kind farewells,
while overhead the gaggle moves
in steady flow, within the swells.
Tomorrow comes first snowfall,
its scent betrayed to naked fields,
where subtle breezes carry hopes
of winter’s coming, autumn’s yield.
jaybluepoems 
These words brought me back to a different time. Reading these words, I could smell the Colorado Fall… 🍁🍂
Sent from my iPhone
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Aahh… a Colorado November it is.. so glad it struck a chord… thank you.
Nice poem. It’s fun to write about birds. I used the bird as a metaphor of hope in one of poems.
Thanks Sean. Birds as subject matter can bring some interesting opportunities for imagery and word play. Thanks for visiting.