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