Flying Springward

Yesterday morning the redbirds were crisscrossing the fencelines, taking up my attention until a flock of geese hurtled into view far above us.

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Geese fly high within the upper reaches
Of the chill, undaunted grey of morning;
High and loud they wing it briskly, grandly.
I should say there's nothing quite so earnest
As a flock of geese that's flying springward,
Just before the winter has surrendered,
While the sun still gives his benediction
Weakly, wanly. I may shrug and mutter
To myself, "Half-hearted try at warming;"
But I'm clearly wrong; the geese, ecstatic,
Greet the cloud-pale sun and take his promise
That the North is ready for the nesting.
Skies of blue and summer days untrammeled
Wait their passage; they are in a hurry.
So I find the sun is truly smiling
Through the dogged clouds, and spring is stealing
On his rays into my startled heartbeats;
Thus I find the promise of the springtime
Beating with the wings of half a hundred
Geese that chatter loudly to each other
Of the joyous days that lie before them.
Laugh, and seize the promise while it lingers.