'The Calling Sound'
I wait upon the gate and watch the bell.
One swing and open goes the other quick.
For that one ring, the calling sound will nick
The hot impatience that would have me dwell.
I rush my thoughts towards the time at hand
And polish frets to mirrors of thy face.
I glance and peer while feet do dance their pace
While looking hard Horizon's broken band.
Each dodging branch foretells your riding through.
Each noise of stone or whinny is thy steed.
And every other Symphony a deed
By what you ride or sing or fairly do.
Your waiting love is pinioned by this Gate
O' please, 'Arrival' be thy only Fate.
(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith
All rights reserved