Eighteen Geese

Eighteen geese all honk hello
Outside the staid museum.
What they mean I wouldn’t know
But I am glad to see ‘em.

They peck upon the green while I
Stroll by the choppy river.
Although the sun lights up the sky,
The wind brings forth a shiver.

The Hudson traffic plows up foam;
Miss Liberty stands regal.
A morning such as this, at home,
Feels too good to be legal.

Before the crowds of tourists hit,
It’s peaceful, calm and quiet.
Upon a scuffed-up bench I sit;
You really ought to try it.

From eighteen geese and morning chill
To what the day may send me,
Inside I am content and still,
With plenty to defend me.