This Hallowed Evening

Wild geese haunt the twilight sky

On each All Hallows' Eve,

Calling out their keening cry,

Joining with those who grieve.

Saluting the faithful fallen,

Their formation points the way

To the land beyond the curtain,

Sheer through the dusky gray.

The Honor Guard flies solemn,

Feathers reflecting the glow

Of sun's last rose -- a token,

To remember those we know.

The lead goose sounds his trumpet;

The rear echo with taps.

The world is captured in quiet;

Our hearts are held enrapt.

Horizon consumes the day's last ember;

Burrowed in our coats, we pray.

Chilled dark hours bring in November.

Hope dawns on All Saints' Day!

by Heather J. Willis, author