The calls of geese awaken me
this morning, their plumage colored
like the brown and white earth.
Snow is melting in the hollows,
moist breath of Spring sighs
through the birches, but storm-blue clouds
in the west convince me
that winter has not yet surrendered
and I must restrain this impatient heart
from some foolish Spring thing
though the lonesome echoes of geese
soften me like snow melting
on the earth's warm breast.