The Soar and Swing
Of summer winds.
They drifted in my dreams last night phantoms in my sleep the mystery of history before closed eyes, they creep.
And wander through the ages these avatars in jars preserved for nights of dreaming they could have been from Mars.
I wonder if the thunder and the morning light reveals scenes seen in a dream as I watch eagles in flight.
I watch them from the balcony as they fly on by on their magic trajectory they don’t even have to try.
First thing in the morning then last thing at night on the wing they all bring a sense of pure delight.
Eagles leave their lookouts teaching young to fly the mystery of history and call their mournful cry.
They soar and swing on summer winds in the sun when they are young then glide into winter’s shadows and speak in a different tongue.
The mystery of history those nights that never end looking for the answers seen, peering round the bend.
Those that came before us gone, though in my mind they are scenes seen in a dream at night my senses find.
©
David Rudder 2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.