With a poem in hand and the skies to see, it was obvious this was a poem not to forget at this time of year. The wonder the beauty of words in a world as dynamic as ours.
Something Told the Wild Geese
Something told the wild geese
It was time to go;
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, . . . “Snow”.
Leaves were green and stirring,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned . . . “frost”
All the sagging orchards – steamed with amber spice
But each wild breast stiffened – at remembered “ice”.
Something told the wild geese it was time to fly.
Summer sun was on their wings
Winter in their cry.
Rachael Lyman Field