Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Flown


Flown

There is one thing we all know,
when its time, we must go.

Friends, lovers, sisters and brothers,
hardest of all, our fathers and mothers.

May we pass with no struggle or strife,
leaving fond memories of our life.

When the time to leave is mine,
raise a glass of fine red wine.

As I travel through the unknown,
smile and drink to me, for this bird has flown.

Words and image by Randy J. Cole,

5 comments:

Michaela said...

Well aren't you quite the poet! Love it! And if you were a bird, you wouldn't be a pigeon *wink*.

The Giraffe Head Tree said...

Ah, Randy. With each visit here you offer up such surprises. This morning I chose to listen to Civilization Lost on your Playlist as I read your poem. With your permission I'm placing your poem in my files for future consideration. It's perfect.

judypatooote said...

That is quite a lovely poem....I didn't know you were a poet.....and I must say ditto for me....I have my red liqueur that I made ready....LOL judy

enemy said...

lovely...Randy.....

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