zachayes

The wind whispers words to me

This much I know to be true

I’ve heard it say the coldest things

Yet I still have not a clue

Why it feels the need to openly mock

My worn face every winter’s night

Or why it deems it necessary

To add insult to frostbite

The mayfly has but only one day

To live its life in full

It has no time to fear or pray

Or enjoy a moment’s lull

Time’s cruel clock’s incessant tick tocks

Care none for the mayfly’s plight

It toils and turns as the midnight oil burns

To grant its frail wings flight

Despite the dwindling light of day

It look hopeful to the sky

Because what drives the mayfly’s brief stay

Is that it truly may, one day, fly.