Birds of the air have nests

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


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