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
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