They were flying above snowy mountains,
in a formation that they long maintained.
They knew that time had come to head down south,
the next stop would be somewhere in the Plains.

Under their long wings there were five big Lakes
that reflected their shadows on the surface,
in the morning as they crossed the border,
between Canada and United States.

Once a year they had formed for the journey,
together they traveled over landscapes,
without any navigating tech aid,
they reached their destination, the warm places.

They stayed on the hills, oh all summer long,
gathering good foods and strolling along,
making a lot of happy noisy sounds
under the sunny sky in the swamp ponds.

He sat on the rock by a tall palm tree
with a binocular watching the geese.