The geese raced across the sky this morning
as winter chased the birds' path unyielding-
Sixty-five miles per hour, twas I perpendicular
forging my own path toward my particular- destination.

When the geese have arrived they shall settle
and be cradled by warm breeze in a cool pond-
They shall fornicate the way animals do
and generate their progeny between the reeds and dew-

I shall reach my own destination.
Where I'll stare at electronic light.
I'll frustrate then force my own contemplation.
And about the geese, I'll write.

Which creature's journey ended best?
If product alone is the only test,
I say, God Bless the Geese!