To Bring One Home
Do you hear it?
The plaintive drone,
A wild melody,
Drifting on the wind.
Follow me
Down cobbled alleyways,
Past stonewalled cottages,
Into fields of heather
Across a grassy moor.
The call is louder now,
Pulling you inexorably,
Stirring the blood
With cries of warriors
Marching into battle,
Fearing death,
Yet going forward anyway.
Your heart is filled with longing.
The wind is cold,
Making the reddened nose run
And eyes tear.
The sun is setting its golden blessing
Across the hills.
Serpentine stone walls cast shadows.
Sheep bleat,
Adding grace notes
To the haunting tune.
Stumble over a rise
And there they are!
Standing stock still
In rows upon rows,
Wrapped in crimson and emerald tartans
Whipping in the wind.
The highland pipers
Calling
At the end of day.
~ Carla Joy Martin
Carla Joy Martin was born in New York City and grew up in St. Andrews, Scotland and Pasadena, California. I have lived in Bakersfield for thirty years now, having raised my two sons here. I have taught piano, art and English. In these “Golden Years” of life, I am a substitute teacher and aspiring poet and children’s book author.