They come they go
as the tide, in and out.
Founded in desire to belong
a place to call out the word home.
But where?
Chasing the wind
to trod and scrape.
This soil will soon spit
out hard, unsupple nape.
Now here:
This is not yours to take.
It never belonged to a man.
Your heart is partial to sway
in such seasonal persuasions.
It is true,
Our descent brings no lasting rest.
No dot on a map
or plot of pasture.
The nomad can find peace,
the sojourner a safe haven
the visitor a warm embrace.
Remember to remember,
and find rest.
