A Poem a Day (542): Migration

 
Migration
 
From their rocky breeding grounds to the sheer edges
of the Antarctic ice, they follow the guiding sun,
the flightless Adelie with their bright white bellies,
walking the frozen ground in sleek jet overcoats,
to traverse a yearly distance of 13,000 kilometres.
In the winter, the sun doesn’t rise to the south
of the Circle, so they just keep on plodding,
the ice continually expanding beneath their feet.
 
The Arctic Tern is the world’s greatest wanderer,
flapping its snowy wings from pole to pole,
from Greenland to the pristine Weddell Sea,
the clearest waters to be found on Earth.
The Bar-headed Goose takes the highest route,
reaching 7,000 metres with no tailwind to help.
They hug the mountainsides and fly by night,
crossing the still-growing Himalayas.
 
In the winter, starlings double in England,
touching down on the east coast to travel west,
roosting in lush green parks and the city grey.
To keep warm at night, you might spy them
swooping and curving and diving on high,
painting a blissful murmuration in the sky,
a kaleidoscope of ever-changing pictures,
until they find their sleep time in the trees.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 5, 2022