Grace calling home

Between the hills of red clover
the shadows still grow
beyond the whispering in my name
they still speak to me
in the still dark corners
where willows grow

I no longer heed the words
of my fathers
or of their mothers before them
but I hear their voices
and it saddens me still
as I am chained
to the past of lost tranquility

Keep on that path my friend
and don't linger
to hear the creek rush over smooth stones
for those stones are heavy
as chains of not so long ago
where once was peace
but now...

I see on the crest of the hill
the wake of the winds
it reaches down to the hearts
so hope may endure
for lost grace
to call me home again

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #32: From Case Studies to Plague Poetry