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I walk again upon an autumn shore
and listen to the call of south-bound birds.
I watch them dive into the chilly waves,
seeking for fish to give them strength and hope
during their long flight to a distant land.
I wonder if they hold inside their genes
the memories of freezing winter days
thousands of years and many lands ago,
before some ancient birds first fled the snow,
following the sun toward a warmer place.
Do they sometime imagine snow and ice?
Or is their instinct free from dread and fear?
Perhaps their flight seems just a mere adventure;
they bear no feeling for what they're fleeing from,
or knowledge of the lands they're fleeing to.
