Vagabond By Ron Porter
the lonesome call of the yearning heart
howls like the song of wolves a-prowl
under the silver gibbous waning moon
in shifting shadows of forested night
across carpet of last season's dying weeds
the wandering stranger spreads his bed roll
stretches lanky frame slack to rest
he counts the stars in velvet domed sky
insect chirps and hoot of owl his lullaby
weary enough from travel to slip away into
a dark and distant dreamless sleep
until at day's first rosy blush he stirs then rolls?
his bed and once more starts out on his way
his way-
his journey?? ?nay?! ?its his mission and quest
and he'll roam until he is beyond the?
reach of her memory then,? ?at last finds rest
and hears the lonesome call...? ?no more
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