The Mergansers are Leaving

This thou perceiv’st which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.  

(“Sonnet 73”, William Shakespeare) 

The mergansers are leaving,

The cove quiet now.

Ninety-five here last week

Loud quacking,

Orange plumes descending,

We stepped away from our morning reading

To see what the fuss was all about.

To count how many 

As if in the counting the wonder might be contained

The memory captured for safe keeping 

In this quick passage of autumn days.

The leaves orange and red

So quickly fall

The beloved old cat soon die

Who lies watching the stream

Wondering if there is anything on the other side

worth wandering over to see.

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