Pachyderm

Ancient tribes march across the plain,
Wise gray-ones in deliberate plod,
Mother and child in a land without rain,
Sisters and aunts thunder o'er the sod,
Masses of memory endure the pain,
Of endless miles in callouses shod.
Migration.

In shadows shifts the Savannah dust,
Noses nuzzle familiar faces feel,
Brays call strays against a sky of rust,
As kin collapse branches — the evening meal.
The mercy brings cool in a gentle gust,
Under dark cover hear a trumpet peel.
Communion.

First light unfurls both leaves and lids,
And a resolve for the miles ahead,
The caravan resumes the journey amid,
The dust and the soil and a sky of red,
The joyous thunder as Sol peeks at mid,
Mountainous splashes bath in a water bed.
Elation.

Yet compelled to move in ancestral paths,
Molded in humus, genes, neurons, soul,
The herd abandons edenic muddy baths,
Ever driven to their elusive goal,
Survive and thrive — resisting the wrath,
Elements and enemies that take a toll.
Compulsion.

And the fast-footed foals need hurry,
To keep apace the lumbering steps.
Young ones from old ones learn their story,
A gift to minds that will not forget.
And families and friends share this journey,
'Til meeting ancestors beyond the sunset.
Reunion.