Perhaps we are valiant vagrants.
Not so much idle, as we are roaming.
Which would satisfy the hunger of our soul.
In mosque and temple, in synagogue and church.
In palace and parthenon.
In pie-shop and theatre house.
Always hoping to find connection.
Not to some thing.
To some one.
That some where we might find the vagrant above all vagrants who had no home.
Who long before created it.
In hope as well.
That we may belong.