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I hear white geese call as they fly
Fog in trees feels them wash by
White feathers lift warm bodies high
Into broad V's that sprawl the sky
Geese fly unblinking above fall rye
Black crows breathe grey mist to air
And hide white geese beyond my stare
Deep blue sky must still be there
Beyond damp fog and the silent air
While ancient stones may draw a sigh
Geese come and go over crops of rye
And fade to grey in the foggy sky
