Let me be a bird of the
air
embracing the freedom
of flight,
with a nest to come
home to at night.
Let me be a fox of the
fields
ranging the bush and
the hills,
with a sheltering hole
from night's chills.
A lizard among grass
and stones,
I would rest,
contemplating the sun,
and retreat to my rock
when day's done.
The Son of Man, we are
told,
had no place to lay his
kind head;
at least not until he
was dead.
I would be called a
disciple;
let love guide my feet
as I roam
dusty paths toward my
true home.
©
Ken Rookes 2016
