Last night the geese came back,
slanting fast
from the blossom of the rising moon down
to the black pond. A muskrat
swimming in the twilight saw them and hurried

to the secret lodges to tell everyone
spring had come

And so it had
By morning when I went out
the last of the ice had disappered, blackbirds
song on the shores. Every year
the geese,returning,
do this, I don't
know how.

/Mary Oliver