Sunday, January 1, 2012

Unaccustomed


This is a strange road.
It leads to a home I've never known,
a father waiting whose arms I'm told
are outstretched. But I have never seen him.

It's stranger than the red and yellow trees
that almost block the narrow path they're guarding.
Stranger than this world both new and old each morning.
Stranger than the wind, known by no one
but feathered wings. 
The man I love's the man I long to meet's the man
who walks with me.