The Wanderer

There is a place he knows of rest it is a place in wooded mist and days of wandering in sorrow ways his broken heart returns this day she's waiting weeping by the door and cries his name her silent call her voice of whispers through tower of tree's like soft cloud leaves upon the breeze there's gentle rain on steps through out but in her stillness she'll chase his pain about because her love soothes rivers lost and melts the early Winters frost and then he see's her on rising sun as rustled leaves, the day begun he holds his breathe, no more is alone he knows she's there.... he knows he's home.