Silver wings against the sky,
Hear that haunting clarion cry.
See the wild geese southward bound ---
There is autumn in that sound.
How their flight tugs heart and soul
As they struggle toward their goal
To new bayous, lakes, and fens;
To new marshes, brakes, and glens.
Always searching for the spring,
Onward flying, wing on wing.
Like a rosary of beads,
Bird by bird the V-line speeds.
As I count, I say a prayer
To the Maker for the care:
"Through the air lanes, day by day,
Speed the wild geese on their way,
Till they come at last to rest,
And, replenished, build their nest;
That one day with proud new broods
They will try new latitudes,
Find the old familiar lane
That will bring them north again."
Silver wings across the sky,
Wistfully, I say, "Goodbye."
~ Minnie Klemme
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