Golden goslings scuttle in a line
mother’s wings point, they align,
hustling to the river.
Father hisses at the stranger
–any possible source of danger—
parents are the givers
protecting their young
with honks, squawks, or tongue,
till from the river
fledglings fly away—
in time, somewhere, someday
Lillian is hosting Open Link Night at dVerse. This is a quickly written poem inspired by a walk I took this afternoon at the park by the river. I hope it’s not too treacly, but the baby geese were so cute, and I was fascinated by the family drama. I watched the goose I’m calling the mother shoo the babies towards the river. The father then hissed at one who was off exploring on the sidewalk to get with the others (you can see there are three on the grass, but four in line). The father then hissed at the other goose standing on the sidewalk, as the little ones went under the fence, and their mother then limboed under it, too. The father stood guard until they were all in the water.