Sunday, March 29, 2009


The goose flew by and jarred my mind

What was the life he left behind?

A distant lake that caught his eye

But who needs home if you can fly?

You're free to go from place to place

And leave but ripples as a trace

To spread out like a ghost's canoe

And then they're gone the same as you

Do you remember where you've been?

The little families you begin?

Or do you soar without a care

For little goslings everywhere

The world seems small to such as you

Who fly above our earthbound view

But we who linger in the ponds

Can make a nest here in the fronds

We'll never soar close to the sun

We've little dreams and not much fun

But as you pass us overhead

Do you wish you'd stayed instead?

( A continuation of: The Crow. Don't ask me; I just start typing)


George Grady said...

If thou didst feed on western plains of yore;
Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet
Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy moor;
Or find in farmer's yard a safe retreat
From gipsy thieves, and foxes sly and fleet;
If thy grey quills, by lawyer guided, trace
Deeds big with ruin to some wretched race,
Or love-sick poet's sonnet, sad and sweet,
Wailing the rigour of his lady fair;
Or if, the drudge of housemaid's daily toil,
Cobwebs and dust thy pinions white besoil,
Departed Goose! I neither know nor care.
But this I know, that thou wert very fine,
Season'd with sage and onions, and port wine.

Ruth Anne Adams said...

Whose drarwings?

SippicanCottage said...

George- Fantastic.

Ruth Anne- I regret I don't know. They're from some old out-of-print book I neglected to make a note of.

Ruth Anne Adams said...

O.T. Siam?

Full name: Owa Tagoo Siam.