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Hunting the Spring

Photo by Raphael Rychetsky on Unsplash

There’s a clamoring of geese,
Raucous along the horizon
Beneath a bight blue sun
Of petulant February.
Their wild spear points form
And shatter and form again;
They careen across the skies now,
For they are hunting the spring;
And the blue sun rides the heavens
With them, tumbling the clouds;
His coming thrusts them aside
Like frost upon the grass,
Which I scatter with my feet
As I tread, footstep by quiet footstep,
Through the bright gold morning…




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A. Christine Myers

A. Christine Myers

Lyric poet

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