the geese

I heard the delicate, clear
cries and looked up -
across the wide sky, the
geese, in a moving V shaping
and re-shaping themselves
into a living arrow
moving by the heart
straining by the sinew
to leave this place
pushed-off by the oncoming
cold
to seek pastures new
that are rich in seed and sun
leaving us to brood among
our northern snows

they shake the dust off
their new wings and
leave to cross the border
back to rolling Yorkshire hills
to roost and preen 
to winter out, to wait
the first pale shafts of Spring

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