My father was the first to hear
The passage of the geese each fall,
Passing above the house so near,
He’d hear within his heart their call.
And then at breakfast time he'd say:
"The geese were heading south last night,"
For he had lain awake till day,
Feeling his earthbound soul take flight.
Knowing that winter's wind comes soon
After the rushing of those wings,
Seeing them pass before the moon,
Recalling the lure of far-off things.