Time to Fly

Something Told the Wild Geese
by Rachel Field


Something told the wild geese
It was time to go,

Though the field lay golden
Something whispered, "snow."

Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,

But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, "frost."

All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice

But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,

Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.