listening to geese through the night, mist and north-westerly wind

all night long they were flying,
singing their signals, as they navigated
across the half-lit city
on, on to the north where
the barren land of winter will
spread a gracious table to nurture
if not to protect their future.

and i, wingless, only a witness
to the pungent smell of melting
soil, to the different greys
come to unfurl the life
dormant beneath the last
patches of rotten snow

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