A Skein of Geese

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.

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