They came
from the sky our chariots of clouds
Thunder
rolling under the wheels, eagles swerving at the fore.
They came
in the silver light of the moon
rose high
and round, playing peek with the dark.
On the
ground heads turned up, starlight eyes desire.
Hands
twitching, grasping at their sides.
Desperate
wishes to fly again.
In the
sky ships of old.
Before
they came, in the days of yore.
When the
horn calls over the horizon.
When the
whispers ring through the silver trees.
When the
stag stands at the cliffs edge.
We will
be home again.
Home
among berry brush and green leaf.
Rocky
shores and ice moors.
River
rolling and salmon leaping.
Fingers
turning dark to firefly lights
which
guide me to the trail.
When the
feet walk a wood full of deer eyes.
When the
hands touch a waterfall of crystal spires.
When the
eyes see beyond mortal ken to the land beneath.
We will
come home.
