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.