Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind -- But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested, the snow is covered with broken seedhusks and the wind tempered by a shrill piping of plenty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO SIMPLICITY by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) GLOIRE DE DIJON by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE EVE OF BUNKER HILL [JUNE 16, 1775] by CLINTON SCOLLARD RACHEL by WILLIAM H. ARMSTRONG III DEAD IN HIS BED by ADDIE LUCIA BALLOU |