Gray Geese

Gray geese feast
On the flesh of
Their fallen feathered friends.
The swans they wish
They were smile because
The geese have so much to learn.
So they soar away from
The blood stained water
Of that pond and plain.
But what of those fallen geese?
Are there no second chances
For devoured romances?
Does the red water still
Flow as fast as that clean,
Crystal iconoclast?
If no, then it is because
Nothing is left and the
Gray geese are out of breath.