Monarchs fly to Mexico.
Millions flee from winter snow.
Wings wink quickly to and fro
as monarchs feel which way to go.
They listen to a voice inside
find a wave of wind to ride
work as one
flutter firmly toward the sun.
Tiny tigers trim tall trees
quiver in a Spanish breeze.
Confetti creatures strong and bright
sleep a season
rise in flight.
They know what they were born to do.
I’d like to be a monarch too.
© Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
See more of Amy's delightful poetry here: http://www.poemfarm.amylv.com/
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.