We chatted, Humphrey and me
under the old apple tree,
him on the ground nearby

me in a chair with a G and T.
All that moved was his neck and head,
always unread, a book on my knee.

He never told of what I said,
I never spoke of his chatterings.
Goose and man together we speed

and stretch our wondrous wings,
fly high and far – everywhere.
could land in clouds, be kings,

if we wanted; or just stay there,
chatting in the darkening air.

© Anthony Fisher June 2006

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