A river in the open sky,
Waves that follow on the wind,
Circling from shores they fly,
Climbing on majestic wings.
They dip their oars into the air,
Just a touch of winter breeze;
Whether it’s a single pair
Or dozens softly curling east.
Black-tipped wings on snowy white
Converging with their many friends,
Resting here on northern flight,
A temporary water-nest.
Their cousins head for tundra lands,
Summer living in the north
Come next spring, they’ll meet again,
At this hotel upon their course.
Where are they headed?
Who can tell
What they know or leave to luck?
And whether they can read the wind
That shimmers like a mallard duck?
Emily Karreman is a third-year student with majors in Russian and History and a minor in Spanish. EK1019612@wcupa.edu