Vagabond By Ron Porter

the lonesome call of the yearning heart howls like the song of wolves a-prowl under the silver gibbous waning moon in shifting shadows of forested night across carpet of last season's dying weeds the wandering stranger spreads his bed roll stretches lanky frame slack to rest he counts the stars in velvet domed sky insect chirps and hoot of owl his lullaby weary enough from travel to slip away into a dark and distant dreamless sleep until at day's first rosy blush he stirs then rolls? his bed and once more starts out on his way his way- his journey?? ?nay?! ?its his mission and quest and he'll roam until he is beyond the? reach of her memory then,? ?at last finds rest and hears the lonesome call...? ?no more