When Fall Comes…

The Ache

Oh fly upon the currents fast
The geese of Heaven’s journey;
Nailed close unto your airy path,
You guide thought’s wandering arrow.
Within the downy breasts above
Resides the dream of travel,
Pilgrims to an unknown land,
You follow Nature’s compass.

Heed the haunting call,
Listen well, for winter comes
And upon the cool sweet air,
The drifting swirling thermal drafts
Fly the geese, the beckoning geese.

In their migrant flights live our dreams
We ache to follow, to spread our wings and soar,
Trusting the leader to let us fly with our own true vision
Never blocked by errant clouds.
Pulled and carried by the
True North of our emerging souls,
The spirit within hears
The haunted honking from the mists of distance
And begins the journey home

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