When northern lights flit o'er the sky,
And Arctic winds blow chill,
The honking geese bestir themselves
Their larders to refill.
They know migration time has come,
And soon on wings of flight,
They'll speed away to warmer climes
Far from the Arctic night.
They preen their feathers, test their wings,
And soon they're flying high,
These feathered squadrons from the north
In V-formations fly.
Their instinct is their chart and guide
By night as well as day,
Until they settle down upon
Some quiet lake or bay.
And there beneath the sunny skies
Far from the north's domain,
They spend vacation's term until
It's moving time again.
Then feathered squadrons from the south
When spring breaks winter's chain,
In V-formation back they'll fly
To northern haunts again.
No comments:
Post a Comment