Whispering Wind

Lo and high, I can hear
the song of the whispering wind
a'calling me away, a'calling me now,
to come home, sweet home,
where I belong.

I miss my children, I miss my abode
in my quiet little town, unseen and
moreover, unheard, a shadow
passing unnoticed, quiet as the dawn,
tenderly, as the dew that settles down.

Oh Lord, I can it hear it loud and clear,
the song that you whisper in my ear,
the song of the whispering wind; free,
carry me, oh Lord, carry me, to that place
I call my precious, oh so precious home.

I miss my friends, I miss my country roads
that would take me so very far away, into
realms yet unvisited, yet unseen, afar, so far,
further than I've ever been, ever seen,
upon the gentile blows of the whispering wind.

Copyright © 1996 Hans Raffelt, All Rights Reserved.

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