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
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