The northern winds now whisper cold and thin,

A warning sung through branches stark and bare,

As geese take flight into the frosted air,

Drawn southward by a voice that speaks within.

In V-shaped ranks, they rise and wheel again,

A silver thread unraveled high and rare,

Their cries, a farewell echo, bold and fair,

A hymn to lands where kinder days begin.

Yet though they flee, they do not flee in fear,

But follow paths their ancient kin have traced,

A journey etched in time’s unbroken sphere.

For even when the earth is iced and graced

With winter’s hush, we know they will appear—

Come spring, their wings shall find this sky embraced.