Each evening, when the August sun was low,
they’d come to check the field behind the house —
impatient for the harvest to be done.
They’d circle, honking, just above the ground
and, when the crop was in, on stubble field
touched down in ones and twos, small family groups,
skeins, silhouetted by the setting sun.
Leaving each morning, they’d return at dusk
for a noisy reunion every day…
And every year the pattern was the same :
they’d stay a week or so and then move on
to over-winter many miles away.
This year, when geese had gone, men came with plans :
theodolites cast shadows over land.
Last Reunion by Patrick B Osada | Garden Lavender Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
