Childrey Geese

Last winter on the village pond, but three Geese. Brilliant white with yellow beaks, come see, With pride they sit and guard the village green, Such anserine confidence must be seen. Spring spawns new life right here, remarkably, Nine gangling goslings waddling awkwardly. Maturing fast, they shed their yellow fluff. Clad now in snow-white feathers, smooth not rough. They sail around the pond with dignity, Their orange paddles working regally. Watch carefully, you think you have their measure, But at the slightest cause they honk displeasure ! Traffic halts. Across the road they straggle, Haughty heads held high and tails a-waggle.