finding my home by the stars,
the constellations and the spheres,
sing their dreams to me,
and they know what I have forgotten.

The coyotes call my name in the hills,
they know the dark moon whispers,
and beg of me to listen,
just listen.

The summer fades and the heat dwindles,
the winds of change drive whirlwinds in the grass,
their voices sing hymns of the harvest moon.

Bounty and joy beseech me to sit at their table,
to tell me of a house down the road,
there I find a home,
in the bosom of its glowing hearth,
and the warmth of an old friend.