Like the migrant bird 1
traveling place to place
frequently resting, never stopping
journeying evermore;
no place is permanent; 5
no place is strange.
Like the tree
in shallow soil,
its roots do not go deep,
easily transplanted – reaching ever out, 10
ever striving to find
a good nestling spot.
Like the hybrid in nature,
the collection of specks
partly one, partly another 15
and yet maintaining its own society –
never truly belonging with others –
it stands in a class of its own.
We dwell on the shrunken earth –
Ever Moving, 20
Ever Searching,
Never truly
Belonging.
HRLyons
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