Come Home

"Come home my child, and watch the snow as it gathers outside in luscious mounds, piling up against the door," I said so many years ago, when you were young and sung to sleep with lullabyes, so soft and low, from a flower so fair- so sweet. But you are grown and gone...and so is she my child, withered away in the flow of time, so fair a bloom to be plucked so young. But you my son, so hale and strong though far from sight, away at war, I still tuck you close to heart and mind. No more snowmen to build, or missiles to hurl- so I sit alone to warm my feet at the hearth's crackling and blushing glow- steep pots of tea and curse the snow as I whisper softly to myself... Come home my son, Come home. The gold-brown owl finds warmth in the barn tucking his head beneath a wing. He too is alone, calling for his mate in the frozen field across the way. A murmur only his lover could heart... Come home to me, Come home. The old gray wolf circles to sleep seeking shelter from the cold north wind. She calls with a lonesome, forlorn howl to her beloved somewhere nearby, and watches intensely from the den, crying... Come home my love, Come home. The raven scratches in patchy thaws searching for a morsel, a crumb to eat, then takes flight toward the moon- a flick of shadow in the dim haloed light. Somewhere this night his listens to hear... Fly home to me, Fly home.