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.