She whispers my name... Only I can hear

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Guardian




Moving
One carload at a time
While the lawyers debate
My country home waits
Guarded by watchful neighbors, friends
The attentive stars see all ends
Orion looks down and smiles; my future known
As his nightly watch, he tends
Waiting for my feet to roam
To finally make this place my home

3 comments:

human being said...

now I understand why today you kept coming to my mind... i'm sitting in an armchair deciding where to start and what to pack... we are moving too... to another house in the same neighborhood... i think of the things I cannot pack... then words shower and i write them down... i think of the memories of this house... i think of old friends...
one of them is you
you are moving too

we are always moving... no?
where is home?

your poem holds all the nostalgia one can feel...
namaste!

human being said...

...and the photo, all the questions...

Lydia said...

My thoughts are with you. It is a difficult season to be in flux but your heart seems so peaceful that all must be right. I agree with human being about the nostalgic feeling of your poem. Beautiful and haunting too.