Hungry Eyes

The haggard bent on her aged staff Wobbling and tumbling Along the withered ballast Two black long rods ironed leading To her village dear lost long ago. Hunger for her home of wombed breaths Praying the jealous daylight not to set The search continues in feverish light Destination slow on uncarpeted roads The country so bedraggled her eyes squinted. Her birds do fly home soon tonight Quilts to be aired to warm them tight Time to burn the stove, broth to be cooked But where is her hearth she cries in anguish Her soul's obsession grew with ever hungry eyes My hearth, my children! My hearth, my children! FIRST Balveen Cheema August 20, 2015 Contest: Waiting