The Chase

The wild geese are flying, In a dance of the air, In line like the comic Daws that chase the winds; A heart pounding with excitement As they take flight and soar, With the grace of ephemeral feelings Of love grasped and lost.

And I, a wanderer on this land, Join the song of the soaring flight, The cries of freedom fill my lungs, And the sweet wind brushes against me, In this chase through fields of time, Where the sun paints the horizon, With a smear of gold and tranquility.

For with every beat of their wings, I feel the pulse of adventure, And I am lifted, I become the wind, Chasing after these wild echoes And finding myself in their passage, A fleeting spark in the echoing vastness.

• D H Lawrence