With Circling Wings

Dark echelons of wild geese race the wind.

In answer to a mute yet urgent call

They seek a warmer marshland, disciplined

By more than earth. Unerringly in fall,

Germ-knowledged, they rise lazily and climb

In ever widening circles till they reach

The fringe of Heaven; then in pantomime

They form in place--no need for sound or speech.

Give me their pinioned faith, an anadem

Of clouds and stars. A far horizon's height

Is beckoning with circling wings. With them

I spiral upward, know the feel of flight.

How fragile are the chains of earth when I

See wild geese rising, touch October sky.