Traveler Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

Think ye that languishing indoors
my humble room and hearth
leaves me devoid of waterfalls
where dryads dance with mirth

Think ye my wooden bowl and cot
in silence wait alone
no harp or flute to grace the room
make life hard as a stone

Think ye when parties start to glow
and people burn the floor
I cry lamenting my sad fate
and hide behind the door?

I sit upon my little couch
beside a chest of drawers
and when I open a small book
my spirit starts to soar

Sometimes the South winds send me to
the Mayan pyramids
as I discover secret lakes
where El Dorado hid

At other times I rise to peaks
of mountains courting harm
and hunker down in blizzard storms
and huddle to stay warm

I love to search the hidden rooms
of temples in Tibet
as butter lamps shed orange warmth
on walls of sad regrets

So often do I wander to
the shores of China Sea
accepting from a wayside stand
a cup of pungent tea

Soon I am led to Routes of Silk
where Marco Polo rode
from palaces of Kublah Khan
to Venice with rich loads

Sometimes I watch the dripping vines
of roses in full bloom
as old Khayyam still pens his rhymes
with wine and rich perfume

I love to go where fishes dwell
in tropical lagoons
and bask beneath a mango tree
to watch the midnight moon

When I see spangled nebulae
in Andes' skies at night
my soul is pulled to cloudless depths
as stars woo and delight

When hungry, my small bowl of rice
transforms to gourmet fare
with turmeric from Bangladesh
and condiments most rare

I love to visit Egypt's coast
and read tomes lined with gilt
in that old hallowed library
that Alexander built

I seek that small forgotten phrase
in a dust covered book
and when I stumble on that gem
I hide it in a nook

Damp teardrops fall from sallow cheeks
a flame glows in my heart
as long lost dreams come true at last
and life gets a new start

Word touches heart and heart hears word
as time begins to slow
and all the failures of the past
transform in faith's bright blow.