The Mergansers

A hiss of wind through pinions
   The only sound they make;
Wingtips skimming sullen waves —
   Daybreak on the lake.

The mergansers are passing through;
   A spear of zebra snow
Lancing through the rising mist,
   Silent as they go.

Tooth billed, hooked beaked and ravenous,
   They arrow through the mere.
There’s many a carp in Candlewood
   Will see no spring next year.

And I shall wait the whole year through
   To hear their whirring hum;
The whispered call that mergansers
   To Candlewood have come.