by Richard Vince

Marching through the crowds, I whistle
Sibelius, but hear a full orchestra
And see the city buildings as
Wooded hillsides and the streets
As rocky shores.

Twenty years ago, I followed her
For the ten minutes our journeys home
Went the same way; I did not say
A word, and I cannot remember
Where or when our paths diverged.

Someday, perhaps, I will know what it is
To have a place in my blood,
A landscape in my soul, but for now
I want to be everywhere, and I am glad
That heart and home are one and the same.


Posted on 06/03/2023
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

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