I am at home with myself
Wherever I am, Thank God. But there was a time When I required more. So I understand the need For book and chair, And tea, And hearth, And familiar footfalls In the corridor, And even for the great structure Of mud and plaster, Board, and brick, And paint, That rises up around it all. And I understand Why people stay Even when the enemy Is at their doors. It is home. It is the sacred thing They feel while there That binds them fast And will not let them go. And so, They stay until They can stay no more. And only at the point of bayonet Will they be torn away. But I am a traveler. I have learned To wander. And so, I go. And where I stop Is home.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
September 2024
|