A Voice Calling
By John Herlihy

Whose voice is that I hear calling,
A voice so tender, as if from Heaven falling,
A voice so familiar to be almost strange,
A voice very faint, but still within range.

The voice said:
“Come, I want to show you something.”
I now knew the voice, oh so familiar,
Full of emotion, of love, oh so regular.

The voice said:
“Come out here where I can see you.”
I now knew it was my father’s voice;
Its pitch and texture made me rejoice.
The voice of a young man, his choice.

His voice said:
“Come now before the moment passes.”
Calling me to the feel of summer grasses,
Calling me to the miracle of daytime stars.

My voice said:
“I haven’t learned yet how to walk.
Even if I have learned enough to talk,
You must come near, take me by the hand.

His voice said:
“You can walk. I said you could do it.”
He sounded like a kid from far away,
Calling me to come out with him to play.

I took a few steps, steady and sure,
My bare feet in the grasses, feeling pure.
The sky had descended from high above;
The air was crisp, clear, and felt like love.

Nothing had ever seemed so utterly perfect;
My father returned, the day felt hand-picked.
I remember the moment as but yesterday;
The day he encouraged me to walk out to play.

The air smelt as perfume; the light cast shadows;
The nearby grasses expanded into meadows.
The waving grass invited me to simply lie down,
As clouds passed overhead with a comical frown.

My father said:
“You will live to see the end of the century.
The end of the millennium will pass you by;
You will live forever beyond the end of time.”

I still couldn’t see him, how I wish he were there;
Only his voice beckoned, with feelings to spare.
“Are you coming,” he asked as his voice trailed off,
As if moving up a trail into a mountain aloft.

I said in my head:
I am coming, but you need to wait.
I can’t make much progress with my infant gait,
Thinking to myself, how can time come to an end?

Now his voice was flowing like a forest stream;
The wind from a cave whispered a faint scream.
“When your world comes to an end, so does time;
Your life will be fulfilled, time becomes sublime.”

Without another word, his voice then disappeared;
I gazed about, now an old man as I feared.
When memory sighs, it seems the whole world is falling;
With folded hands I too sighed, as I heard a voice calling.