Were we but the vagrant
Winds, ephemeral and 
Passing, that do not bind 
Themselves to where they’ve been!
We could live with stagnant
Lives, content to breath, and 
No one we’d left behind
Could e’re own us again. 

But we are not the winds, 
Freely drifting.  We’re of 
Bones and blood, ever tied,
Bound to those we’ve known; 
And I’ve known you, my friend, 
So I am tied.  Your love — 
No thread lightly denied — 
Will surely draw me home. 

st, 1979

For Connie…

© 1979, R.S. Adamcik