Hearts Of Return

Brother, remember the agility that came of us. So often, I am brought back to the very first time when the land became our song, and our mother, the land have since upheld our soles from the days of our infantile, and we have become the songs of our mother as the sun continues to rise upon the land of our youth. Winds of hoofs astound our steeds, they come to me time and again as I recollect warmly and I smiles in my heart as we rode into the sun’s osculation of the pastoral lands. 

You wiped the tears from my visage, as the end of the many trails have often found my brief disillusionment, and come we have, over the singing, meddling brooks of our ways, and through the fountains of youth as we were scurried along with our racing spirits, leaving behind the dawdling bends where doth the ages of woes and the battles of the great warriors have fallen, all are embedded in the pristine, the embedded soils of our passing.

The end of the trail often found us, not ever wanting to come to this halt that abruptly shakes us off our steeds, but as the sun continues to shine its laughter upon our zest, follies of hearts have smeared themselves upon our visages, and we are ever embraced with jovial spirits, we will always come to this, to the kindred of hearts, the mantles of the wind as our strength, but always we return to our mother, as she dotingly waits for our hearts of return.

 © Rena Scribe 2015

(originally written in October/2005)