I'm starting to knit a sweater. 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
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