“Snowbirds leaving mesa”

Dawn blushes pink above red desert stones,  
Citrus trees sway as the sunlight atones—  
For another cool night when the palm shadows grew  
Long as the dreams they all carried anew.  
The streets of Mesa, once flocked in soft white,  
Glisten with tires as RVs take flight.  
  
Their rigged silver chariots set for the north,  
Snowbirds in convoys of laughter spill forth—  
With golf clubs and keepsakes, postcards unsent,  
Sweet desert memories packed as they went.  
The warmth of the market, the shuffleboard cheer,  
The tang of fresh oranges lingers all year.  
  
Back to the forests where pine needles stay,  
Where snow leans on branches in soft, heavy gray,  
They chase the spring rising in northern embrace,  
Their absence a hush in each sun-tempered place.  
Yet come December, when winter winds call,  
They’ll ride back to Mesa—sun welcome to all.

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