The southern stream

The winds have started , the birds have flown,

A very long way, away from home,

Each mile they cover, towards the south,

There is a burst of happiness, without a doubt.

Closer to their destination, they get with each mile, 

Leaving the cold bad world behind,

Of course, it is only until the end of winter, they know,

In absolutely no time, they will be back home.

Or so they hope, with that thought in mind,

As they look toward the deep blue skies,

The wind that brings that familiar feeling from the hearth,

Lost for a moment, but they settle right back on their path.

They follow that pattern, off they go,

To a place they dream of, for as long as they know, 

Enjoying the gust carrying them above the sea,

It's not much longer until they are where they need to be.

And there it is in sight, lo and behold,

The ecstasy of the first sight, that can't remain untold,

Of those storms they have weathered, of the hurricanes they have fought,

They are but distant memories, are they not?

The birds, they settle down, their wings at peace,

Of having reached right at the peak of spring,

So much to rejoice, so much to love,

It almost feels like a sign sent from above.

It won't be long before they hear that call,

That yearning ache to go back to where they belong,

But for now, they are here, to sojourn in the land of their dreams,

Oh those birds, flying towards the southern stream.