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The Native Returns
RB ( / )

The Native Returns

After so many winters, the summer’s
Sun swims these worn hands and brightens the wine-
Shouldered hills. Coming home, no more going
Far, far away, I bring these memories
To a living end, one to remember.

A horseshoe tops the door of knotty pine,
Still exiles fortune’s shade. Yet home’s steep climb
From the past presents some memoried signs:
Eucalyptus odors, moss-ancient oak-
Once were these lost. Now nostalgia’s sired
Eyes find poppies on a hill’s leafy bed.

Such roots consume me, for they are love’s yoke
Where all’s remembered as strangeness desired.
After so many winters, winter’s dead.

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Comments (3)

'you can never go home again', but perhaps we can in our memories. This is a fine poem, and I love the imagery. Linda
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Well, it is Rememberance Day! :) Very eloquent read!