With Spring In Our Flesh
By Don Welch
With spring in our flesh
the cranes come back,
funneling into a north
cold and black.
And we go out to them,
go out into the town,
welcoming them with shouts,
asking them down.
The winter flies away
when the cranes cross.
It falls into the north,
homeward and lost.
Let no one call it back
when the cranes fly,
silver birds, red-capped,
down the long sky.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2015 by Don Welch, “With Spring In Our Flesh.” Poem reprinted by permission of Don Welch.