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.

by Richard Bunch

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
amazing envious need 20 characters!
Well, it is Rememberance Day! :) Very eloquent read!