I Await the Wild Geese, Coming Home

"the story of life returning"

In the distance, a warming wind does rise,

winding its way through miles and miles of wintry past,

across frozen meadows and melting rivers,

drawing forth the sleeping bear,

calling home the wand'ring geese,

for Spring must come, must come at last.


In the distance, a warming wind does rise,

turning slowly, mile by mile, the ice grey skies,

into watery skies filled with living blue,

awakening life in the slumbering birch.

for Spring must come, if Winter dies.


In the distance a warming wind does rise,

rolling in as gentle tides of sunshine grace,

as the wintry cold drips away, drop by drop,

I hear their honking beyond my sight,

I strain to see them in this first light,

for the wild geese to return to this our place.





The End

0 comments about this poem Feed