On the way home

The land:
flooded.
Trees drowning.
Lonely geese
flying south.

In between, a house,
now an island,
made of stone
by caring hands

A stronghold,
standing calmly
In the rushing waters,

waiting, I imagine,
for the sun.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s