A Nomadic History

The dog stands noblest on his rock
Looking out on the public park
As though it were his.
He cannot remain still,
The woods and water
Call out to his blood.
An ancient nomadic history runs in his veins.
I watch, with slight envy,
And lament the wildness
Which has long since died in me too,
And which I seek out
With all my broken heart.

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