The Calling of My Home

By Skye Shae Bonati

March 10, 2009

The road ahead brings solitude away from wayside paths,

As now my horse and load are turning round to stroll the grass.

It calls me where there are no bounds, where I am free to roam,

But something calls me stronger; it's the calling of my home.

The fast-approaching dawn is calling down into my heart,

The coolness on the air is painting fathoms with an art.

The softness of the morning mist is thrilling to the bone,

But nothing calls me stronger than the calling of my home.

As swifts bound deftly in the air, swelling wings like rapid heartbeats,

The early morning breath of nature calms in rhythmic repeat.

The doe and fawn come dancing on to teach me how to go,

But nothing calls me stronger than the calling of my home.

The way of travel dabbles on and pulls me past the pretty scene,

And somehow even air so cool and fresh does not draw me.

Not flight of bird, nor dance of fawn can egg me on alone,

No, nothing calls me stronger than the calling of my home.

So turn again, though my heart longs for nature bound by naught,

And mount the heavy horse that carries troubles like my heart.

For though the beauty calls me through the winter's mulch of loam,

Nothing calls me stronger than the calling of my home.

No, nothing calls me stronger than the calling of my home.

Copyright © 2026 Skye Shae Bonati. All rights reserved. This artwork may not be reproduced, modified, or distributed in any form without the express written permission of the artist.

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