Goose Bay, Labrador

October, 1944

Up the great geese come from the South

Rippling with sound the thin gray air,

Cast one backward look, and circle,

Then sit down by the river's mouth.

Snow-smoke eddies whirl from behind

As the air-splitting engines strain and pull

Into line these monsters; the small men run

With rope and canvas, to tether. and blind.

A knife in this soil thrusts the cutting cold,

Edge barely dulled at the year's one noon;

Celled here by mountains, encircled by frost,

Live men by the challenge of war made bold

To better the fox and the eskimo

And bring their South to this world's edge.

They aim their chimneys against the sky

Through Christmas trees and the ancient snow.