Personal note: One of the valuable aspects of living in the Northeast is the presence of distinct, beautiful seasons. In Maine, some of them are fleeting, such as Spring, but treasuring them leaves one open to certain poems that express their flavor, or single crystalline thoughts about them. This is one of the latter. When I first encountered it, the last two lines raised the hair on the back of my neck.
Something Told the Wild Geese
Something told the wild geese