Who rides the lonely trails, ear to ground <br />Listening for footfalls, coming down. <br /> <br />The animals sense a presence, yet unturned; <br />Over the mountain, past the berm. <br /> <br />Disturbed pebbles mar the pond's smooth face, <br />A faraway dust cloud closing space. <br /> <br />Silent trees listen as if holding breath; <br />Their ancient roots feel movement shift. <br /> <br />Something beckons something old, <br />From far days we thought were gone <br /> <br />And there is home; dear home, we knew <br />Still full with dreams, that can't come true. <br /> <br />This we know; and we know it, plain <br />But it’s the heart, goes back again.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ripples-19/
