I hear the whistle of the train
Its echo seems to fill my brain
My heart, it races o’er the track
My toes tap out ” clickety – clack ” .
How I do love the chugging sound
As each train covers so much ground
It’ s fun to carry on this race
From town to town and place to place !
I hear the whistle on the track
It seems to shout, come back, come back
But I have been this way before
Not once, but twice or maybe more
And cannot bear the lonesome sound
Of emptiness which I have found.
My bags are packed all set to go
I’m ready for another show
I do not have a backup plan
And may become an ” also ran ”
God with Your help, I’ll take a chance
Tis time to try to learn to dance !
If I could sail across the waves
Upon the seas and pass the caves
Where stories speak of mystery
Oh, what a sight that one might see !
A world exists outside our mind
Where legend and adventure wind
I’d be a traveler at best
Who roams the oceans without rest.
Oh what adventure that would be
Escaping time’s reality
To follow where the birds dare fly
And worship God in His own sky !
Now I have trod thouands of miles
From the Highlands to the low
And wandered o’er its paths and stiles
Threading through the fields that grow.
I’ve hiked so many mountain peaks
And clambered over rough stone
I’m bored by shopping and boutiques
I prefer to trek alone.
It’s ancient times that intrigue me
With stories that I have known,
What’s captured me is history
And the legends it has sown !
It’s a hazy colored sky I see,
longing to be home, once more freely
To bathe again in the warm sunlight
and in our horizon blue delight.
Far borders call as distant shore sings,
“Come fly away on light fairy wings.”
Then scan magic coasts of foreign lands,
enjoy subtle tides with shifting sands,
Share bold sights of untold magnitude,
traverse worlds that dwell in solitude!
Oh, weary traveler, why so pale?
Seek yet other scenes with mount and vale,
Trek many a mile with lonely heart,
to find each end akin to the start.
Yonder we search and hither we go,
floss on the breeze, the winds do us blow.
In our quest for the wisdom we seek,
truths that exist have not power to speak,
When this wayward wanderer needs rest,
remember, home remains still the best.
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Claire V. Bogdanos 