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.
Copyright © Dana Young | Year Posted 2016
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