The Grey Goose

My friend Grey Goose flew by today honking loud in mournful greeting. Poor goose, poor goose alone you fly, as two by two your flock glides by. Did hunter’s aim or beast of prey Steal your life long mate away? It matters not what wicked blow Suffice, you fly alone. Then as I watch, you soar in flight skim low down river’s canyon I bow my head and pray next year you’ll fly with a companion. This morning, as each year around this time, a small flock of Canadian Geese flew down the river bed. About four years ago one of the pairs lost his mate, and, as many of you know, geese mate for life. So this lone goose remains with his flock, always flying alone behind, calling. . . . . and each year, it breaks my heart. . . .this year I decided to write a little tribute to my friend, The Grey Goose.