I

With the silver in their hair some have found 
treasure and not through sheer luck.
For my signs long have I peered through windows 
but beyond me through walls they look.
With a breast that harbours surpassing dawns
uncowed by night, sweet for growing rare,
yet familiar as day to these spirits
beyond the thud from my raucous funfair.

II

Today a flock I've come to know vanished.
Normal- I'm guessing- with every real change 
of season. One day I'll find out where they go
or find myself a little more ready
to move forward when one fails to leave
or returns.