The Geese are All Fleeing for the South

(I meant to post this during the fall…. would have made more sense then, but better late than nothing at all)

The geese are all fleeing for the south
Chased by winter’s warring shouts
Driven by northern, swollen winds
The kind of cold that shakes you in your shins,
Too temperamental to endure
They seek a tepid temperature

They pause for formidable fishing
As the hunter’s hits are merely missing
Like scissors spinning past their weightless wings
They clamor, cackle, and call among other things,
Their flustering alarms beget more flight
As they course toward clouds with myriad might

They yell at the yellow yielded crops
Their squawks fell like dripping drops
Like the summer’s roaring rain
Resounds individually yet the same,
All birds of an identical feather
Wings beating till the end of never

The pink peach sun slips slowly behind pines
The sinking sky shares her heady harvest wine
She supplies the sweetness and delirious delights
And no one sips more than the fowl in their flight,
Their calls mingling in the moon’s waning stare
Singing their winter song for anyone who cares