Going Home

Brown and tan and burgundy leaves
Had fallen from the upward trees.

I tread upon their veins and stems
To the clearing around the bend.

There I sat in dormant grass,
Thought on things bound to pass;

The firewood upon the hearth,
The impending death at a birth,

The love and war between mankind,
The proclamation, “This is mine.”

I rose and onward caught the trail
And seemed to enter through a veil –

Of evergreens that pine away
All the gloom of fall’s decay.

In this, I came upon my home
Never again in need to roam.