Autores:
  • Something told the wild geese
    It was time to go.
    Though the fields lay golden
    Something whispered, "snow."
    Leaves were green and stirring,
    Berries, luster-glossed,
    But beneath warm feathers
    Something cautioned, "frost."
    All the sagging orchards
    Steamed with amber spice
    But each wild breast stiffened
    At remembered ice.
    Something told the wild geese
    It was time to fly-
    Summer sun was on their wings,
    Winter in their cry.

    Rachel Field (1934). “Branches Green”