Poem -
Home.
And so it snows
outside, the trees of old
dancing gracefully in the soft winds of winter
clouds gifting soft fluffy flakes
a pretty white blanket for all to see
and from inside, where the wood fire burns fiercely
warmth arising from the cotto rich floors
in which were places with bare hands
in days of my summer
I watch in silence, as I witness a miracle
nature is patiently awaiting the new season of spring
often reflecting on the fact
that once winter has arrived for me
I shall never again see another spring
yet, I don’t feel sad
I feel incredibly grateful to have seen it at all
because when my winter arrives
it’s simply time to go home.
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Comments
It is getting cooler here by us. Winter won't be long soon. A lovely poem too.🙂
Thank you dear B.S hope it doesn't get too cold my friend. 🌹
When I was younger I never thought to think there might be a housing crisis, over population, such was my simple mind in the earlier days. It seems what was an adventure, that turned into self imposed exile has become something like a desert island. Home is the place to be. I see that now. But sometimes our plans don't work out do they?
I was a man with a plan, I always was going to return to the south, where home is, but life happens and now it may never be so.
My dear Rory the home I'm speaking of in this peice is actually death, we simply return to where it is we came from. The seasons are metaphor for early life to late, thank you my dear friend for such a thoughtful response dear friend. I also miss my home where I was brought up. 💜
Such peacefulness of the soul here Shirley
and beautiful imagery ... I think possibly as we get to the end of our lives... we yearn death x
Thank you dearest Marion. 🌹 I think you may be right. 🌹