BACK HOME AGAIN
With the wind at my back
And the sun on my face
I am like a fat cat quite at home in my place.
In spite of the holes
In the red island clay
The green grass is greening
So let the dogs play.
I look past the mess
To the spire on the hill,
The Westmoreland winding
Black birds drink their fill.
Sunglasses can't dim
the blue of the sky
the green of the grass
the red of the earth
the black of the birds.
As they fly, I try
to remember a lady I've never known
Whose presence here made this my rightful home.
The sun warms my hand
As it pushes the pen
I've not lived here before
But I'm back home again.
