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Press On!

          Cold wet winds churned the air and stung our faces
          Dark grey clouds pressed in low and fast.
          In the distance gray threads floated in the sky.
          Pulsating dark forms
          Springing out into ragged lines and back.
          All was silent save the bitter wind
          Bending low the long brown marsh grasses.
          Soon the airborne filaments grew into familiar vees.
          And by the thousands,
          The Canadian Geese returned.
          Mated for life,
          They flew in pairs,
          In Tens,
          In Thirties and Fifties.
          Pressing on into the westerly morning wind.
          From the South, the East and North.
          Press on. Press on to Horicon!

          Invisible winds slammed their lines
          Rolling them viciously- cracking the whip.
          Thunder rumbled in the distance.
          Mighty wings pushed harder against the air.
          Press on. Press on to Horicon!

          A few flights flew high
          Others skimmed the trees
          As the thunder grew near!

          (Continued, next page)

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