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The geese are circling weirdly, honking,
Almost as if they're deciding whether
They should stay or go,...

But now the thread has gotten lost.
I'm not sure what I'd planned to say,
And, anyway, the geese have passed.
A poem which had started well has
Gone awry, and where's the harm?
A billion poems have been written,
Tens of billions, only to be burnt away
By stars which, like ours will, expand,
Incinerating those who wrote the words,
And those who read, and, in the end,
All goes to ash and passes out
Of sight, exactly as those honking
Birds I'd planned to write about.


© Lawrence Beck 2023