Favorite Fall Song

Something told the wild geese it was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden,
something whispered, "Snow."

Leaves were green and stirring, Berries luster glossed.
But beneath warm feathers
something cautioned, "Frost."

All the sagging orchards steamed with amber spice.
But each wild breast stiffened
at remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese it was time to fly.
Summer sun was on their wings.
Winter in their cry.

Rachel Field