AND ON THEY COME - poem

And on They Come

Mallards panic in descending
flight as a whirlwind
of hunter-guns come calling

and fear scatters across
Cooking Lake in rushes of three
and four. One desperate
wish, return to sky
before the end of days.

Soon, their flock of pride
streams high above in
a path of flight, well disciplined
“V” of flying wings,
like geese
capturing our delight.

© Richard L. Provencher 2005