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.
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