"sonnet67"

the day moon sits upon the night
at times they both entwine in fight,
no need to have the final word
unless one counts like chirping bird,
one branch so high for puffed up mouth
no song today they're flying south,
he's late to flight so missed take off
long wings propel the flight so soft,
the streaming air clings to his form
another reason to be born,
high on high up through the sky 
the flock and he now unify;
a stream of colour and of light
for one small flock that flew the flight.

 ©`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
12may19