There lives a greyish goose named Carson - young
And full of ardent awe. Unlike his peers,
In Rancho Duna’s grass he sits among
A grove of trees with books from ancient years.
Within his volume, Carson reads a myth
Of gods and how the cunning beasts arose.
With eager eyes he scans the pages’ width
And timeless wisdom found in words he knows.
He reads within creation's cosmic womb
Are gods of heaven, ocean, flame and stone.
The leafage, pelage, scales and every plume
Of plants and beasts are born from them alone.
Although the gods made plants and beasts with mirth,
They yearned for folk to dance upon the ground.
Amongst the shade of trees with awesome girth,
They carved from wood beasts as folk renowned.
They formed the glabrous folk with hair and nails.
They formed the villous folk with grasping paws.
They formed the squamous folk with sturdy scales.
They formed the villous folk with fur and claws.
They formed the villous folk with hardy hooves.
They formed the plumous folk with beaks that poke.
They formed the villous folk with gnawing moves.
They formed the serous folk which swim and croak.
Through vital breath and words with daring charms,
They put inside their forms the means to feel;
With legs to run and hands on sturdy arms,
They’re made to love and learn with grace and zeal.
Cement and metal, Carson ponders, frames
The world – as cunning folk were framed from wood.
Electric vessels course in towns as flames
Ignited lamps where gifted people stood.
In every manner skillful folk can strive,
Advanced machines are made through fiscal gains;
United cunning folk will surely thrive –
Through towers, nimble cars, and skyward planes.
Beneath the shade of trees with sacred wood,
A gaggle near to Carson finds his spot.
Among the ganders, Vincent says, “What good
Are books when sport gives strength that’s sought?”
His gaggle nods as geese of four agree.
To Vincent, Carson speaks behind his book,
“There's much to love beneath this verdant tree
And more to see for those that want to look.”
“I doubt that highly” Vincent says with haste.
“It’s only strength that counts with awesome skill.
Your flights of fancy offer only waste.”
His restless group departs towards the hill.
The clime improves in time and welcomes love
As Vincent’s heart is drawn towards a goose –
A gal named Lauren like a silky dove.
His friends for love were also on the loose.
This boorish, brawny group of manly geese
Could not achieve their goals with lady folk.
Their nicest clothes and strength did not increase
The charm and wit they lacked in how they spoke.
Despite their paltry work with love in spring,
They couldn’t find a way to trick the gals;
They couldn’t find a single gift or thing
To urge the lady geese to prize their pals.
“The gentle writer goose you like to nag
Has quite a lovely, witty gander mate”
The lovely Lauren says. “You always brag
Of brawn but never have the depth to date.”
“Perhaps your luck might change with more than clime
And rousing sport to fill the lines of text
In every message sent to gals through time.
Here’s hoping growth and change for you is next.”
Near benches grumbling Vincent sits alone
While Lauren’s joined by John – a goose with class
That strolls along with roses that he’s shown;
The grove of trees and hills they slowly pass.
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