Sweet Arrivals

Something I've been writing for a while. It's influenced by the writings of the Psalms.
Credit too to my friend, Stephen Kingdon.

I

The wolves howl as twisted branches reach for Mars,

howling in a horrendous chorus for angelic birds.

A cry for their freedom, left in despair;

oh, those sweet angelic birds

do they not hear?

Have they migrated south for Winter?

Indeed, the forest leads them to no escape,

it leads to only another tree.

Oh the silent trees, the deathly trees,

stripped barren and bare by the winter breeze,

and what now of the lives of these

without the birds singing softly in the trees?

HOOOOWL- this is the life of a wolf,

a desperate cry for survival.

What man would choose such an existence

to search and come to no arrival?

Had they not seen? had they never heard the angelic choirs?

II

Sweet arrivals,

sweet meadow sunshine with a new voice for song.

A long train journey, we missed our stop,

but now we are here.

Sweet arrivals.

Sweet chorus, I hear their song,

I know the lyrics

I know the melody

They echo as some distant memory...

Sweet company, the birds have returned,

we have arrived, let us sing.

And now we gaze upon this manor house,

walls of orange brick, its rafters old and creaky,

but the heart is alive and beating.

The house is alive, I hear its song of joy,

"The birds have returned to the nest".

Melodies fill its chambers both night and day,

the walls echo the praises sung,

not of man or of his own way,

but to the God King three in one.

The birds have returned home.

A faint howl cries in the forest...

They don't live here.

The wolves don't live anywhere...

The night is very cold.

If there is a place where men can find no shadow of despair

It is this place which has become Heaven's earthly lair.

The birds have returned home.

_


Spring 2013