(14 October 1966 / Wellington, Shropshire)

A Thought Of Home

Amidst the dark and eerie fog,
That fell across the moor,
The sounds were crisp and mellow,
As my paces trod the heathered floor.

A glint of light was visible,
Just off the rustic land,
I made my way there, slow in pace,
My trusted stick I grasp in hand.

My flat cap barely much for warmth,
The northern winds were bitter,
My head down and a thought of home,
My pace at once grew slightly quicker.

My heartbeat sounded in my ears,
Yet time it seemed stood still,
Each breath that left me steam dispersed,
My pace slowed down, against my will.

But soon enough the cobbles glistened,
Speckled with the morning frost,
With footsteps light I wrapped the door,
My love I greeted, home once more.

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Comments (1)

Heart beats sound in ears and a glint of light is very clearly visible. Home is clearly and amazingly perceived in beauty of memory. An excellent poem is interestingly drafted here...10