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The stars will glow, numb coals of icy light.
The moon will wax and wane in company.
A chill will nudge the clouds with ardent knee,
Then hug the frigid blackness of the night.
Each branch will glisten, blonded by the bite
And sting of crystal clinging to the tree,
As geese once more to southward swiftly flee
With honk and rasp to leave the frozen sight.
But geese return when green the marshes grow
To nest among the reeds: one voice, one pair
To mate, one wing whose warmth will never tire.
And hidden in the shadows' depth the slow
And aging goose retreats from ganders' stare
To mourn her mate, to wait, and to expire.
NOTE: Canadian geese mate with one mate for the rest of their lives. My brother, the hunter, killed a great gander and I wondered what would happen to his mate. This is the emotional reaction to that thought.
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