Attending a Poetry Festival I Wonder What A World Full of Poets Would Be Like, And As I Leave the Building Into the Mid-Winter Afternoon Air I Hear the Late Migration Of a Canada Goose
In a room of a hundred poets my ego diminishes. My name grows so small
I can no longer find it on the program. But it turns out I am everywhere,
in every poem I hear, someone is calling my name! In the parking lot, in the cold air
above me a lone goose is calling as he flies, looking for companions traveling
his way. I look—no, he is not alone after all. There is one, silent, flying beside him.
Translations from the English 
wish you all the best for the festival.. 🙂
Thanks, it has been great fun–
A lovely thought, Jeff, and a beautiful image there at the end.
Thanks L. Those geese basically delivered the poem right into my mind.
In a room full of poets, we would hear your call.
Jeff, you exemplify the pulse of the festival, our individuality and our solidarity. Thank you for this.