The geese are flying north again,
to the keen tune of their past kin.
I watch them paint the setting sun
with the fresh hues of where they’ve been.
I love you truly, dear old friend,
but I’ll hide it beneath the din
of my own thoughts, and broken crumbs
of wisdom that I’ve forgotten.
But if you look, you’ll see it in
my eyes, and know that you have won.
There was no battle to begin
with; you think fear makes love more fun
so here we sit, and now it’s done,
and it weighs on our hearts; a ton
of bricks with which we pay for sins
that could belong to anyone.