"Wild Thing"

On the wing

This is the time:

They’re migrating.

A rippling line

Of black and white

Flying deep

Into the night

Soon they’re gone

To land beyond

Passing over

Field and pond

Wood and river

Town and road

Destined for

Winter abode.

You feel the pull

To follow them

To go beyond

The valley’s hem

Southward ho!

Into the sky

With the snow geese

You will fly

In your dreams

You’ve taken wing

You have become

A wild thing...

 

Phil Knight

Done