The Song of the Geese
      By JoHannah P. Green

High and clear they sing,
breaking and re-forming
again and again,
singing their flying song
-of the clouds and mist
-of the crystal blue Autumn sky
-of warm sun
and the fine, fresh river of wind
pushing them toward
a place in memory.
"This way!" the leaders sing.
"This way!" the flock sings.
Home! Home is ahead.
They sing the flock across the sky,
to a home in memory.

After they pass overhead
and into my memory,
the brilliant blue sky fades,
breaks softly
into rose and turquoise.
I lay aside my rake,
and breathe in the gentle Fall evening.

Far off to the north,
beginning softly, then growing stronger,
I hear a single voice, solitary and sad;
coming closer to my garden,
- frantically calling to those who have gone ahead,
so far ahead, on the sky road;
"Where?
Where?
Where are you?
Wait! Wait! Wait!
Don't leave me!"
The graceful body of the solitary goose
wings swiftly - crossing overhead;
her every muscle fueled by the need
to sing again with the flock.

My heart breaks
for the panicked little soul.
The sky is so wide.
It goes on forever.
Poor little creature of wind and lake.
How wide is your sky
when the flock does not hear you!

A single tear rolls down my face.
Do I cry for you or for myself?
This road of Earth is wide.
It goes on and on,
and I have forgotten the words
to the song that unites my flock.
Where? Where? Where
have you all gone?

The tears wet the soil at my feet.
I climb the stairs and close the door.
The sky grows dark and quiet.