David Smalling Poet Quatrain

The Homeward Call

The swallowtail butterfly defying all distance
Hold its course against the sun
And seek through space a migrant's chance
Of flying to the land of its birth

The hornbill turtle tunneling its watery way
Swim against the tidal flow
To find the distant shore of sand or bay
That popped it from egg to air

And I have seen between spring and winter
The birds from the north homing
Through the crimson evening ere the shutter
Of night falls upon their way

And I here, my eyes beyond the distant sea
Like all creatures before me know
There is a place of birth, a golden memory
And when he calls then I shall go.

Home is where the heart goes yearning
For forgotten treasures now bright
To home at evening my wings stealing
Carry me safely through the night.

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Carolyn Devonshire May 7, 2009 at 6:04 PM Indeed, we are all called home at the end of our days, David. How beautifully you describe the instinct to find our way back to "forgotten treasures now bright." You have a creative and sophistocated writing style that I admire. This is an incredible example. Love, Carolyn