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Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
-William Shakespeare
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Winter's Not Gone Yet, If The Wild

William Shakespeare
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
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Winter Gone Wild Geese

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Hear and attend and listen; for this is what befell and be-happened and became and was, o my best beloved, when the tame animals were wild. the dog was wild, and the horse was wild, and the cow was wild, and the sheep was wild, and the pig was wild -as wild as wild could be - and they walked in the wet wild woods by their wild lones. but the wildest of all the wild animals was the cat. he walked by himself and all places were alike to him
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It is not the high summer alone that is god's. the winter also is his. and into his winter he came to visit us. and all man's winters are his - the winter of our poverty, the winter of our sorrow, the winter of our unhappiness - even 'the winter of our discontent.
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Being wild can be wearing a silly hat. being wild can be dancing weird. being wild can be shooting people. what do i think being wild is? nothing. actually, the whole world is wild. everything is wild.
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I dropped my hoe and ran into the house and started to write this poem, 'end of summer.’ it began as a celebration of wild geese. eventually the geese flew out of the poem, but i like to think they left behind the sound of their beating wings.
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I'm going to tell you the story about the geese which fly 5,000 miles from canada to france. they fly in v-formation but the second ones don't fly. they're the subs for the first ones. and then the second ones take over - so it's teamwork.
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Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. a wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!
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