Something told the wild geese
It was time to go;
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, . . . "Snow".
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned . . . "frost"
All the sagging orchard steamed with amber spice
But each wild breast stiffened at remember "ice".
Something told the wild geese it was time to fly.
Summer sun was on their wings
Winter in their cry! By Rachel Field
GAlA_Jade Community Member 
|
|
