(1967 - / Ohama / Nebraska)

Wandering Singers

WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.

User Rating: 3,1 / 5 ( 12 votes ) 8

Comments (8)

I have 9. She has described my sometimes feelings very well.
This poem is very well written. It was submitted in 2003 (11 years ago) , so I wonder if Erin Belieu feels the same way more than a decade later.... We humans are multifaceted - oceans, for sure - and the sunlight bounces off the surface, and it also penetrates the surface to an extent. This poem is a vivid study of our iniquities. Has Ms. Belieu answered her poem with a study of our strengths? I hope so, because she's a skilled poet.
Like this too..children produce toxic gas and sometimes behave badly..
children are a bunch of mysteries.Like it.Keep inking.
Children and their many sides. Good poem.
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