|
You hear them first.
A far off, unfamiliar clamour,
That grows and grows,
Until they are above you.
Great straggling arrows,
The skeins fill the pale autumn sky,
Calling to each other
As they compass South;
Following an ancient ley line,
Felt, rather than remembered.
And when I think of you, my Love,
My soul flies too, up to
That old, unknowing road
That will lead it home.
|
