Dark echelons of wild geese race the breeze.
In answer to a mute yet urgent call
They are returning to their emerald seas
Of northern marshlands, where the waterfall
Released from winter's boundaries fills the swamp.
Would I might likewise soar--My coronet
Be clouds and stars--returning Home to romp
Through meadows of the sky. I shall forget
That I am tethered when I see the light
Of my Primeval Home; unerringly
Swift-spiral upward, know the joy of flight--
Not long, not long till I am tether-free!--
How fragile are the chains of earth when I
See geese in ordered pattern mark the sky.
