Toll, ancient bell,
Ring home my wayward heart;
Sing to my soul,
Lest from the truth I part.
Chime, ancient notes,
To strum my wand’ring strings;
Peal forth your hymn,
To give my spirit wings.
If I were a boat, and you the seas,
I’d hoist my sail and let the breeze
Bear me ever homeward bound,
Within your harbour, safe and sound;
And if a storm should cause dismay
With roaring gale and stinging spray,
You’d take the wheel, your waves escort
My shaking hull to safer port.
Midst unknown anchorage, should I
Dismiss my destiny, my why,
You’d paint my name upon my deck
In sea-foam green, lest I forget
That I am one with deeper swells,
With azure waves, and sea-carved shells,
With pirate kings, and mermaid songs;
For in your arms, my sail belongs.
‘V’ is for fall,
living arrows on a southward spiral,
pointing out the obvious –
Autumn arrives with strings attached.
Snows and North Gales
are on the end of that umbilical cord,
so ‘V’ is for fall;
make haste for calmer climes,
to natal stars,
leaving cracked eggshells
as a deposit
I live beneath an incredible migratory path – this time of year, the skies are resonant with honks and wings of untold number. Their annual pilgrimage marks the seasons for the mortals who toil beneath their flight path.
If up above the clouds I sailed, on silver-moonlit wings,
Oh, the sights that I would see, a thousand different things –
The Eagle’s nest would be revealed, and open to my view;
The hiding place of Doe and Fawn, the den of Fox pups, too.
The place where Oriole has hidden string to weave into her nest;
The storage house for Warbler’s notes, which rumble in his chest.
The streaming silky Spider’s art, for patrons, on display;
The inside of an Iris cup, in goblet’s gentle sway.
And if above my troubles sore, my flight would take its wings,
Oh, the sights that I would see – a thousand different things!