To Tom “Papa” Lambert
– We miss you.
The downy feathers brush the January soil
Hard, still in cold tempest wind
Wings flapping against the current, moil
From that earthen sojourn’s kin
He flaps, and fights, the goose that is
His lot of lake’s attenuated hollow
Do those eyes gaze downward in mist
Or upwards towards those he follows?
Gone is he from mortal sight
Being lost behind a cloud that issues north
We who stand our own awaited Flight
Miss our friend’s laugh thenceforth
Yet, as though by fated time’s call
The sky opens up, and light bleeds through
Bidding he join them across early morning pall
For an echelon comes high into view
“Friend, son, brother” — they seem to say
And the goose’s wings flutter quick
To meet those who have gone away
Now reunited in endless time’s tick
We see them fly beyond horizon’s sun
Our own gaggle now the less roam
But meet again will we before its done
When bids the echelon to ferry us home
THE WAYFARER 