The Beckoning
What we are
When snow falls unheard
Where wind waits
And always beckons
What is always beckoning
When silence is seen
Where dreams were lost
And we are longing
What we are is here
When warmth crashes down
Where patience washes over
And the beckon echoes
What has always beckoned
When time is forgotten
Where details grasp
And we are, what we are
This poem is about:
Our world