Look yonder at those birds as they fly

Aerial apparitions across the sky

With the flap of each majestic wing

Distance enormous sublimely mapping 

Disparage not this journey of theirs as redundant 

For migration is, for them, extremely significant

They have crossed the world round 

Yet are not tired, for their journey is homeward bound

And even the most weary travellers were never exhausted

While on the path that towards home led

But if it is home that they now find

What was that which they left behind?

Asked a child to one of the flock

As they had paused to rest near a rock

To this the elderly bird replied

With little said and more implied

"Home isn't that which was, nor that which will be 

We are wanderers, and this is our life, you see

Where our road goes, we have never reckoned

We follow blindly the path to which we feel beckoned

In the rocky parched sands, or the sea's wet foam,

Whither thy heart leads, there lies home."