Sleeping Place

She wandered on and under foot,

Down a darkened, dusty path.

Run across by a river-bed,

The river-birds had long forgot.

And stepping by the river-stones,

Weary, she paused, there to wait.

To drink, by fledgling, early rays,

And wash some of the dirt away.

And carefully, there she played,

Oh, creature then from someplace else!

Where troubles cannot have their way,

And ways need not their end forsake.

The water had proved sweet, and clean,

The morning, quiet, fresh, and slow.

The air still bore the taste of rain,

And the softened earth scented of home.

And rested well, she longed to stay,

At the riverbed, by the way.

Though, forlorn, she knew she may,

 The open sky had called her name.

And so she flew, on mended wing,

Over rock, and river shore.

Into the night, her sleeping place,

Before the turning of the morn.