Brother Goose

I must go where the wild goose goes.
Wild goose, brother goose, which is best,
A wandering foot or a heart at rest?
Frankie Laine, Cry of the Wild Goose
(Songwriter: TERRY GILKYSON. Cry Of The Wild Goose lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.)

Spring, as they are fond of saying, has sprung.
Tulips shove above snow wet leaves to grab the sun
and daffodils shake to herald events.
Impertinent violets take their place as hyacinths
adorn themselves in regal blue vestments.

Dreaming of long afternoons of sun,
I fail to see the robin or hear the cardinal’s early
call to mate. Slow to rake the soggy leaf mold
from the hardy chives, I begin to feel
the waste of winter and the rush of spring.

Above, the snow geese by their hundreds fly
to float upon the river’s edge in thousands, to feed in raucous mirth,
reassemble, shouting eagerness to try
the far thawed tundra and, once again, know birth.