Songs By the Hearth
I left home in dreams of battlefield glory,
When Pea flower dot the golden brown cole
In the delicate bloom of late spring.
I cycled to the frontlines,
Wheels whispering of broken prophecies.
The great willow seemed to know me in roundabout,
So sent forth a shower of riverside catkin.
I return home as snowflakes whirl in a winter night,
Ice blurring my line of sight.
The children, unknowing
Run past and bow respectfully
As to any travelling elder, a companion in wooden stick.
They think me a stranger and speak of good wine,
Gone was the willow and cole flower,
In dreams now I only see fields of lusty green.
Who can understand my sorrow now?
I wash with frozen river water,
For there’s none the wiser,
None quite so forgiving.
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