Something Told the Wild Geese

Something Told the Wild Geese

by Rachel Field

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.”

Autumn

by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown;

The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town.

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.

The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown.

Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on.

End-of-Summer Poem

by Rowena Bastin Bennett

The little songs of summer are all gone today.

The little insect instruments are all packed away:

The bumblebee’s snare drum, the grasshopper’s guitar,

The katydid’s castanets—I wonder where they are.

The bullfrog’s banjo, the cricket’s violin,

The dragonfly’s cello have ceased their merry din.

Oh, where is the orchestra? From harpist down to drummer They’ve all
disappeared with the passing of the summer.

Daylight-Saving Time

by Phyllis McGinley

In Spring when maple buds are red, We turn the Clock an hour ahead;
Which means, each April that arrives, We lose an hour Out of our
lives.

Who cares? When Autumn birds in flocks Fly southward, back we turn the
Clocks, And so regain a lovely thing— That missing hour We lost last
Spring.