In fall when geese take flight above
my fields and vee across the sky,
I have the vagrant's wistful urge
to wander with them way up high.
I hear their call, "Hey, Farmer Friend!
We're flying south o'er Delaware,
Virginia, Georgia, Florida.
The Everglades. We'll meet you there!"
Though corn's been reaped and silo's full,
adventuring is make-believe,
for I am yoked to farming chores.
I've livestock, too, I cannot leave.
Regretting choice made long ago,
I watch them vanish with the sun.
Decades too late I realize
I'll never travel, share their fun.
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