From a hill near our farm, on a cool autumn day, I watched the wild geese winging by,
I heard the bronzed leaves from the cotton wood trees, catch a breeze, which hissed a good-by.
I closed my eyes tight as I felt my cheeks bright, from the rays of the red, setting ball.
The beauty so rare, left me awed and aware of God’s Country, The North, in the fall.
A marsh just below, shimmered bright in the glow of a sky that reflected its charm.
Then rested my mind on a sudden strange find, that startled my thoughts with alarm.
There were prints all around, in the mucky wet ground, of the paws of the thirsty, untamed,
Who pranced with delight in the dead of the night, then vanished, unknown and unnamed?
The wind on the hill, felt suddenly chill as I sensed them speaking quite clear:
“By whose leave did you claim the right to remain, when you hold no privileges here?”
There’s many disputes, but these were mere brutes, with no rights to which mortals love best.
Still the hot truth remained, It was I who’d be shamed, taking spoils from those dispossessed.
Their howls have oft times swept over my farm, long after the darkness would fall.
I wondered what love in the vastness above, understood or could answer their call?
The sun now had set and I felt no regret as I willingly relinquished the right,
To those left on the hill, whose rights are theirs still, unnamed, untamed in the night.
-Doug Garrett