From deep sleep
I am awakened-
As though someone has driven a shaft
Into the sleeping chambers of my mind
And pried me into consciousness,
But, by a stirring.
From a distant wooded hill
A mourning dove
Unlike most sounds of waking day
Its call is one of mystery
A call that falls more nearly
On chambered heart than drumming ear.
It is this that stirs my sleeping mind,
And bit by bit leads me
Through narrowing corridors of sleep,
Until with sudden consciousness,
I lift my eyes to look upon a waking world.
Yet, one thing I cannot escape-
Your call is a beckoning call-
© by J. Vance Eastridge