The geese are on the red eye flight
A sailor’s warning call
No time to waste
Falls through the dark
Make haste
Make haste they call
The frost is on the morning
And is sharpening the blade
And leaves are falling fast
Like tears
To weep with autumn rain
And rivers of the aftermath
Are flowing down the street
As I go wading carelessly
Through currents drifting by
The reds and yellows break to brown
And summer’s fade is fleet
But sadness is a boon tonight
As is the farewell cry
And nothing is a sweeter sound
Than leaves that rush
Beneath my feet
And geese that trail across the moon
In echoes
Down the midnight sky



Sara Mathews     October  2015