The geese fly south and leave behind br the bitter winter storms to come. br The gather, circle then they fly br a vee formation in the sky. br Exchanging leaders on the way, br almost as if a single mind br controls the flock mysteriously. br I watch and weep as they depart br I have no wings I cannot fly. br I am earth bound I can’t escape br the snow and ice which will confine me br with just my books for company. br Until my feathered friends return. br Their honking cries for which I yearn br will rouse me from my somnolence. br Alerting me to their presence. br I take my ink block and my brush br most carefully no cause for rush. br Inscribe my thoughts in black on white br to signify my great delight. br In my own style of poetry. br To hear again the geese converse. br Not in the style I wrote at court br but poetry of a simpler sort. br To prove I have not lost my skill br and dare to hope I never will. br Until the day they bury me br I will be writing poetry. br No longer in the kings employ br I use my leisure to enjoy br the use of my ability. br To write whatever pleases me. br br 18-Jul-08 br br http: blog.myspace.compoeticpiers br br Kushih stylebr br ivor or ivor.