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Homeward Eyes

When long shadows rise

as mirror of my soul,

between what was and is not yet,

whispers call me stranger.

Walking in unseen prints,

they touch the veiled edge

where hope and memory join

to kiss my inward eyes.

When long shadows rise,

I bless the coming hour,

as tortured pilgrim feet

feel the homeward earth

once loved and lost,

and hunger for familiar things.

And all that is within rises against the bars

with the cry for wings.

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