Unaccompanied Minor

Loons know when a lake becomes free of ice because within 24 hours they return to their old haunts. Spring is upon us, and I celebrate with an old poem appropriate for the season.

Unaccompanied Minor

The vernal equinox come and gone

yet nighttime frosts persist,

winter's dunning agents.

A flash of white like a message

from a signal light

rides the waterline - the loon returned.

But the size is wrong, more of a liner

than a tug. Black eyes instead of red,

and, once unfurled, a long goose-shaped neck.

The bird, a singleton, glides off,

unaware of fading ugly-duckling coloring,

head held as if royalty, 

bearing the favor of spring: a cygnet on the cusp.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor