Starlings herald transition to night
Above the town twilight cries
Belonging to their program, they are soon to go South
This flexing mass in love with the wind


And you going homeward, your deep routine
Scraping through the minor stations
Where creepers grow thick between the bricks
Changes too tiny to measure, slow movements

If you cared to look, the worn-out spaces
Would rise one day regenerated
But you'll gaze at the window if the paper is dreary
And always see the same reflection: eyes
Unchanging through the coasting days
Overlaid on weeds, rubble heaps, schools

Jay Allard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sidings/