Nature calls, come to me,

Take you where she wants to lead.

Shadows are here, night approaches,

Early morning hours, thoughts are haunting.

Phone rings, a distant voice,

Strangers alike, similar choice.

Somewhere, a porch swing creaks,

And she listens, as his voice sings.

Talk of tomorrow, talk of today,

And still, the music plays.

The sound of wind chimes, blowing in the breeze,

So bright, the many stars she sees.

Strangers so far apart, yet so near,

All the while, wishing you were here.

© Cynthia Clark