by Elliott Bell
Once softly swaying on the telephone wire,
They now lay still by the worn-out tires.
Yesterday they were in the air,
Every day before I saw them there.
Now they look so sad and small
What was it that made them fall?
Was it the wind? Or the rain?
Was it just their time to wane?
I’d thought they’d twirl in the sky forever,
But there they lay, with laces severed.