A whisper of wings in the autumn sky,

Geese in formation, drifting high.

Carried by winds so crisp and cold,

Chasing the sun, as the seasons unfold.

Golden fields wave their last goodbye,

Bare trees etch patterns against the sky.

The honking chorus, wild and free,

Sings of a journey over land and sea.

Through silver mist and morning light,

They vanish beyond the fading night.

Drawn by instinct, bold and true,

Southward they soar, to skies anew.