Homecoming 2003-09-03

I went out for a walk on whim,
in silent thoughts withdrawn,
and wandered 'till I met him;
the sun had long since gone.

'Namaste, I bow to thee,'
he said with twinkling eye
and motioned to the willow tree
that stood against the sky.

But I could neither see nor hear
his calling me a god;
I had but eyes for what lay near;
my ears knew but my plod.

Back I went, for morning loomed,
to a house with roof of ash
where not a single flower bloomed
and thunder daily crashed.

Night darkened into daytime,
and soon the real world dawned
a house of noise and acid grime
and glaring sun beyond.

But home is what I make it,
as that one taught me well
yet still at times I'd like to quit
on fair green hills to dwell

Just a tent and a campfire,
under the shimmering stars;
with a tune and a sweet lyre,
and a life without bars.