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Searcher
 
Ravens glide o'er scraggle-spruce bog.
The summer sun lights the crags.
The silence rings and the morning clouds
tatter to gauzy rags.

The game trails wind, weave through the bush -
the alders, willow and birch.
The ravens alight on a cottonwood branch
and watch a desp'rate search.

He walks along an esker ridge.
The silence swallows his calls.
He climbs beside the mountain rill
between stone canyon walls.

The ravens ride the thermal drafts
in long slow spiral-rise.
They watch his struggles up the slides
with enigmatic eyes.

'Where have you wandered, little one?
Where have you gone my child?
Come to your father. A child's not safe
playing in barren wilds.'

A raven alights, on a ridge-line path,
head quizzical, to one side,
watches the searcher go back down
slither the long shale slide.

'Where have you wandered, little one?
Call to father. I'll hear'
The ravens are silhouettes on blue
never far, nor near.

Light lingers late on summer days
twilight brings back clouds.
The searcher seeks without a pause
frantic, yet unbowed.

The seasons change - Fall, Winter's dark.
The ravens though, remain,
watch the desperate father search
again, again and again.

The ravens glide and watch, attend
the searcher's endless quest
beyond the seasons, past the years
beyond the pale of death.

By tony parsons

© 2016 tony parsons (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Ballad Stanza (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Ballad Stanza (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Ballad Stanza (challenge has been closed)


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