NomadsThe Nomads life we spend,Under the sky’s vast canopy, Mountains the drapings rend, The wind its essence sets free. With clouds, the roof above, The horizon as our walls, Worn like the finest glove, Whatever fate, us befalls. Travelling over the Plains, Beneath the suns warm, fair gaze, Tri-moons wax and wane, Shimmering, misty, fine haze. Vista alters each day, Seasons bring us new delight. Directing Nomads way, Like Herlits, high in full flight. Fragrances linger round, Floating on unseen platters, Dust flies up from the ground, Billowing as wheels clatter. Moving in procession, Skirting the City’s high walls. Seeds burst without cessation, Fresh growth – wherever it falls. Thus Nomadic travels, Seek, never finding an end, The ball of yarn unravels, As spinners deft fingers wend. Weaving pictures anew, An ever-moving shuttle, The journey never through, Ignores silent rebuttal. |