It’s early in the eve

As I stroll throughout

My raw and windswept yard.

The grass is pallid, 

Spring time stiff,

Still sleeping, crunching

Beneath my sneakers.

The Ash is quiet, dormant yet,

No floral beauties

Have come to wake.

But from far above

I can hear the call,

The exploding sound 

Of ceaseless life abound.

Brisk in a moving tempest

Of onyx incandescent wings,

Mystical in their flight,

Hypnotic in their dance,

They caw their songs,

As great masters of the sky.

They span the azure fading

Wisps of rose vermillion,

Taking voyage across

The swift arising moon,  

To find a place to settle in

Throughout the chilly night.

— Amye Nicole Bird 

Honorable Mention, Eye On Life Poetry Contest 2011-2012