Nostalgia

NOSTALGIA When the yellow sun reflects rosy hue on the east, It will find me awake and waiting, For I must go home this time! All I require is an eighty-passenger engine to roar me through, And when I feel engulfed in the ever whirling dust, I will know I have arrived! When I hear the howling wind, The shouting of cunning jackals in the veldt, Women’s lullaby that shatters the silence of the field, The chanting of the cuckoo birds in the field, The sight of sheep as they descend steep slopes, I will know I have arrived. When I hear the cracking of a whip in October, The bellowing of bulls as they hoof out dust, The roaring of tractors, the boom of thunder, The barking of dogs, the snow that powders me white, And the sight of an eagle that takes a flight, I will know I have arrived. The sight of our yellow bricks house, The lowly mowed green, green grass of home, The big, big strawberry tree I used to play under, The smell of the slowly home brewed beer In the over brimming tall glasses, Tell me that I have arrived. Across the river bridge, down—down the dusty road, Under the twilight, water mirrors a shaky sky, All has changed since I left home long time ago, There runs my sweet Mary and children, And to meet me is my pappa and mamma, Slowly moving in walking canes, And I am glad to be home again!