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Old Sentinel
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Quietly, he watched
With clear, beady eye
Toward snow-freckled landscape,
Ghostly, grey sky.
Frigid wind knifed
Into feathery bone.
Old Canadian Goose
Now completely alone.
Southern fly-ways beckoned
With their annual ring.
Members of his flock
Disappeared on strong wing.
Too old and weak,
No strength left to fly.
Instinct forbade him
To even try.
He honked farewell tiredly
With his remaining might,
As last departing stragglers
Disappeared from sight.
Primary flight feathers,
Ragged, unpreened —
No protection from freezing wind,
Unchecked, unscreened.
Soon white snow
Would blanket the land,
Bringing silent death
To hapless animal and man.
From gosling to maturity,
Years long since gone,
He would die where he hatched
On this small lake he knew as home.
Autumn Leaves
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Father Time once again waves his wand,
Signaling season’s change.
Warm, sunny days surrender quietly
To oncoming snow and rain.
Leaves of multicolor profusion
Play tag upon the wind.
Her arms spread wide, Mother Earth
Awaits patiently for their flight to end.
Carried haphazardly by the winds
And scattered all around.
The winds die down, while leaves still fall,
Fluttering to the ground.
Mother Earth nurtured the trees that gave leaves birth,
Now she will stop and rest.
The leaves will decompose
In time to nurture Mother Earth.
Tree limbs now bare
Move in the wind like long but skinny whips.
Words take shape
And blend on the poet’s lips.
When leaves do fall and the wild goose calls
Backward from the fold,
Brings foreboding melancholy
Creeping o’er my soul.
Unknown to many,
Father Time has his secret reasons.
Falling leaves are just one way
He signals the changing seasons.
My life’s companion strolls beside me
Through the crisp, cold breeze.
We both exalt in season’s change
As we crunch through Autumn Leaves.
wfosterwelborn 