Picture is an arial view of Mount Shasta courtesy of Tom Daniels, Who took it on his way home..

Hear me calling you
Sweet child,
Calling you home,
Return to the sacred mountain
With your heart full of stones,
We shall find a way
To cast each one
Into the flowing river
By the shore of our sea,
Let mother earth return them
To where they should be…

Come home my child,
The world has bruised you too much,
There is sorrow etched on your sweet face
And pain in your stiff embrace-

Let us walk the paths of our youth,
And remember the truth
Taught to us by the elders here,
The world to which we were born
Has nothing to fear-

It is man, who is unkind,
The love you seek
You will never find,
For you are searching
In the wrong place-
I see the hurt he left you,
On your beautiful face..

Come back sweet child,
Let me braid flowers in your hair,
I will brush and braid it with such care,
And you may lay your head against my chest,
And tell your stories then rest…

Then we shall rise,
Like ghosts from the past,
And I will show you
What you left behind…

Perhaps you can find,
That, which you seek,
Here in our world of beauty and peace,
And the soft sounds of the forest
Will finally let you sleep…

When you rise in the early dawn,
You will hear the call of the hawk
On his morning hunt,
And the memory of the howl
Of the wolf in your dreams
Telling you what you need to hear…

The birds will sing you
The morning greeting,
And the squirrels and chipmunks
Will play at your feet...

When the sun begins
To climb over the mountain,
In its slow and heated way,
Its warmth will melt the frost,
In your soul and perhaps
You will hear his husky voice,
Welcoming you home…