🪶 The Goose at the Border Gate

A Satirical Fable in Principled Replies

By Forest Moss © 2025

At a gate marked in red, under frostbitten skies,

Stood Maple the Goose, with composed, steady eyes.

A Buzzard in boots flared his badge with some weight:

"Before you proceed — Thoughts of our leader at the gate?"

She stood without flapping, her passport held neat—

Not loud, not afraid, not bowed in defeat.

She nodded once gently, her composure innate:

"Transformative," she replied at the gate.

The Buzzard leaned closer. "No need to be coy—

Was he forest's shame, or greatness deployed?"

She straightened her feathers, not rushing her weight:

"He stirred many feelings," she said at the gate.

"Did you like him or not? Don't deflect or debate!"

He clacked his sharp beak with impatience innate.

She smoothed down her scarf with a pause in her gait:

"I believe in democracy," calm at the gate.

"Oh come now," he barked. "Did you cheer or protest?

Was he bold like an eagle—or just badly dressed?"

She blinked once, slowly, not rising to bait:

"History remembers," her voice at the gate.

"Was he chaos or clarity? Hero or fraud?"

He pressed for a soundbite, a curse, or applaud.

Maple stood firm, neither early nor late:

"My thoughts go on ballots, not here at the gate."

Behind her stood others, not loud, not irate—

A turtle, a rabbit, a bear with a crate.

No slogans were shouted, no flags to inflate—

Just silence… and one feather brushing the gate.

The Buzzard grew tired, his questions third-rate,

His clipboard now soggy, his bluster deflate.

He sighed, then muttered, "Fine. Go. Don't be late."

And quietly, Maple stepped through the gate.

When a question’s a trap dressed in feathers and flair,

The answer is calm—not the volume of air.

Let others shout banners of love or of hate—

But wisdom walks softly… and clears every gate.

🌿 Why I Wrote This

Some gates are built to keep trouble away. Others are built to test the quiet strength of those who pass through them. This fable began with a simple question: how do we answer when the question itself is a trap?

The Goose at the Border Gate is not about arguing. It’s about the power of principled restraint—the wisdom of saying just enough, and no more. In a time when noise is mistaken for strength, Maple’s composure becomes its own kind of defiance.

I wrote this for anyone who has ever been cornered by a question meant to divide, provoke, or brand them. Maple answers without bitterness. She answers without surrender. She reminds us that ballots, not buzzards, are where truths belong.

And sometimes the most courageous thing we can do is speak gently… and still walk forward.

—Forest Moss