Calling...

 

Calling

 

Something elusive allured me

Out to the hill;

Far away curved the challenging sky line,

Beckoning still.

 

My feet took the old, worn trail,

Familiar with each turning,

But my heart ran before

With strange, exotic yearning.

 

The selfsame wind blew over

As it had always blown,

But it seemed to be trying to murmur

Words forgotten, unknown.

 

All my life I had seen the pines

Stenciled on the sky,

But they looked different, then,

I knew not why.

 

The quietness held all thought,

There was no audible word;

Still I lingered, listening,

And O...I heard...

 

 

Leonard L. Tate

1912 – 1989

 

Done