By Pavel Chichikov
How they pull, those rowing geese
Bow-ahead through winter fleece,
How can rowing drive them so
Untiring through melted snow?
Bands of muscle, keel and breast
Pull like rowers, back to chest
Each the other's wake comes after,
Uttering inhuman laughter –
Beating north the pilgrims drive,
More than human, more alive –
Thrusting out their narrow heads
To see their summer nesting beds
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
