Birds by Mia

The feathers of the crows are glossy and black.
In the sun they glimmer subtly.
They swoop, the sharp beaks nearly
as piercing as their eyes. I feel as if
they are watching me. Through the
glass of the window, I feel their
penetrating stare. They come and go.
Every once in a while pure white birds
fly along with the black birds. The
contrast in striking. I wish I could
soar with them, up into a world
unknown to me. Flying high, into
the cool sea of blue we call the sky.