His wing was damaged.

He couldn’t fly.

His flock left him behind.

He didn’t want our help.

“Don’t be a goose,” we said,

but that’s what he was,

one of the Canada kind.

He couldn’t fly,

but he could run

and run he did and fast.

We persevered,

caught him, drove to the vets.

Bird poop spilled forth.

We hope he’ll be ok.

At least we know we tried.

We’re all geese sometimes.

                                                       JDG