On Observing Waterfowl Flying South

A checkmark in the sky.
A skein of waterfowl
laboriously moves to warmth,
drawing behind a gray curtain
of cold howling winds,
moisture falling frozen and slow.
Factoring the effort spent,
whereto other than warmth.

With pleasant melancholy
we think of other autumns
and ancient people
who stood and watched.
Any significant difference?
For both a lonely omen,
a never ending flight.

by Duane Robert Pierson

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