Migration

Atlas Dwyer / 11

The monarchs in their golden crowns

They are indeed a lovely sight

Sat high above the littered ground

To rest by day and fly by night

The people look in silent awe

And point their cameras up to see

A beauty bright as precious dawn

That human hearts can only dream

I breathe in the autumn air

That smells of pine and distant sea

Forgetting it’s not nice to stare

As, for a moment, I am free

The bitter truth creeps back to mind

Of why I begged my parents so

My fears of running out of time

Of losing soon my chance to go

I pray that someday far from now

A little boy will raise his eyes

And see a thousand golden boughs

I pray that beauty never dies