PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As the unseen hand of the wind
opens and shuts the gate to your lane
I look through your window
watch the fire on your hearth
dance along the birch and maple.

I pause on the rutted path,
summon images from the years
that we shared in these fields
so long ago.

Will you know me

who as a callow youth
left the safety of our farm,
driven by a nameless urge
to go beyond meadow’s edge

and venture down the twisting path,
to find out who was calling
and what they wanted from me.

Will I know you
whose days are spent in labour
twitching stumps and rocks
from the time-worn fields,

nights bathed in sweat
pulling breech-born calves from wombs,
worrying about the harvest,
content in your small world.
How many children now?

I turn, 
softly shut the gate behind me,
regain the road.
My feet find once again the path
I walked down so many years ago
when I first turned my back
on my care-free childhood.
It’s not time yet.
Soon, but not yet.