THOUGHTS

THOUGHTS

BLACK WATER SWIRLS AROUND THE PIER

GULLS FLY SEEKING REFUGE

BUSY LIGHTS DOT THE HARBOR

A TIRED FISHING BOAT

COMES CHUGGING IN

/////////////////////////////////////

DUSK AND THE SHEPHERD
CALLS HIS FLOCK FROM THE HILL
THE SHEEP HEAR AND HEED IT
THEY MOVE
NOT ONE STANDS STILL

THE HILLSIDE
ONCE PICTURE QUIET
SUDDENLY BREAKS INTO MOTION
AS THEY COME DOWN OR OVER THE HILL
FORWARD SURGING
LIKE THE OCEAN

THEM LAST FEW COME DOWN THE HILL
THOSE WHO DID THE FURTHEST ROAM
BUT THE SHEPHERD HAS CALLED THEM
AND THEY HAVE COME HOME
///////////////////////////////////////////////


HOW CAN IT BE DESCRIBED
THE SONG OF A BIRD
ON A HILLTOP
THAT'S COVERED WITH MIST
AN ANGEL'S SONG
THAT THE MEMORY KEEPS
AND SINGS FOREVER IN THE HEART

//////////////////////////////////////////

I CANNOT GO TO SLEEP
I HAVEN'T HEARD MY LULLABY
NO CAROLER HAS SUNG TO ME
NOR HAVE THE TREES SAID ANYTHING
I GO TO THE WINDOW
AND WATCH THE MOON
COME DOWN THROUGH TATTERED CLOUDS
THE WIND RUNS RANDOM FINGERS ON THE KEYS
AND I AM SLEEPY EYED

////////////////////////////////////////////

FRANK A VOLLMER