'The winter flies away when the cranes cross'

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Early each spring, Nebraska hosts, along a section of the Platte river, several hundred thousand sandhill cranes. It's something I wish everyone could see. Don Welch, one of the state's finest poets, lives under the flyway, and here's his take on the migration. His most recent book is Gnomes, (Stephen F. Austin State Univ. Press, 2013). 

With Spring In Our Flesh 

With spring in our flesh

the cranes come back,

funneling into a north

cold and black.


And we go out to them,

go out into the town,

welcoming them with shouts,

asking them down.


The winter flies away

when the cranes cross.

It falls into the north,

homeward and lost.


Let no one call it back

when the cranes fly,

silver birds, red-capped,

down the long sky.


American Life in Poetry is made possible by the Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright 2015 by Don Welch, 'With Spring In Our Flesh'. Poem reprinted by permission of Don Welch. Introduction copyright 2016 by the Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-06.





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