When Adventure's Lost Its Meaning
Keeping in touch with the youth, I found my granddaughter's copy of the lyrics to a song she loves.
I do not know the name of the song...
A fellow blogger has commented that the author is Marta Keen Thompson.
I know beauty when I read it.
It's odd to me that these lyrics appeal to both an 11 year old, and an old woman.
To me these lyrics bespeak the homeward journey at the end of life.
Perhaps to my little granddaughter these lyrics bespeak a secret heartthrob love, far away.
But maybe, just maybe, we all have, in moments of deep sorrow or even deep reflection, been longing for "the homeward return, in time" ever since we arrived. Or maybe even on a particularly beautiful autumn day.
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"In
the quiet misty morning, when the moon has gone to
bed,
When
the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear
and red,
When
the summer's ceased its gleaming, when the corn is
past its prime,
When
adventure's lost its meaning, I'll be homeward bound
in time.
Bind me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.
Set
me free to find my calling and I'll return to you somehow.
If
you find it's me you're missing, if you're hoping I'll return,
To
your thought I'll soon be list'ning;
in the road I'll stop and turn.
Then
the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its
end,
And
the path I'll be retracing when I'm homeward bound
again.
Bind
me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.
Set
me free to find my calling and I'll return to you somehow.
In
the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed."
by Marta Keen Thompson
by Marta Keen Thompson
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Feeling the change in the direction of the wind,
Riverwatch
