Coming Home
On this day, I climb the hill with a cushion of elation under my feet
Gravity's heavy tug now merely a child's warm weight upon my back
The exquisite buoyancy of hope is as a strong, steady wind at my back
I fairly fly, almost racing to the top to feel the sun's fondest face on mine
Shadows, storms of memory may loom in the valley from which I climb
but I know as I ascend this steepest slope; I will not fall as I did not fail
The light awaits, the warmth it beckons, real love is hailing this hiker:
Climb swiftly to us on the wings of your good smile; you're coming home
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