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By the Talking Stream


The peaceful sound of waters flow,
That calms the restless weary soul,
They walk along the stream so slow,
Waiting to gather what they have sown.

Their empty arms are open wide,
To hold us close as we arrive.
Ever so slowly, they walk along.
Waiting and listening for the
Masters tone.

Call again to another, your time has passed,
Come home, Come home to rest.
Their voice will call softly. So, listen well.
So, that we may join them and walk together.
To listen and wait and call to another.....
Come home its late...

Written by my sister, Susan Hammond,
in loving memory of our father and our brother.

This poem may not be copied or reproduced in any form, without permission from the author.
Susan Horn Hammond, 1999



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