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The long ride home
A starling sounds the reveille
A million ravens take up the chorus
Sleepily, I draw the blinds
For another day is fast upon us.
Far, far from the hubbub do we glide
Across moor and sylvan plain
Willowy ferns wave a fond farewell
Alas, I'm on my way home again.
A sea of mustard shrubs congregate
As if in urgent conference.
Nirvana, left behind in the hills.
Citywards, I speed with deference.
Muddy tracks snake their way into forever
Connecting places that have no name.
I'm a long way from home still.
A gypsy, seeking neither fortune nor fame.
I travel, therefore I am.
A wayfarer in search of no end.
Many worlds lie before me.
Where should I go next, my friend?
A steel serpent cradles me in its womb.
Cutting through the countryside like a scythe.
Despondent, I'm leaving the peaks.
Picture postcard beauty, inspires me to write.
Sylvan memories echo in my mind.
As the hills tease me at every turn.
I steel myself for the journey.
Vowing someday to return.
Fields roll by, like carpets of green.
Flowers sway in wild abandon.
A gentle breeze tickling their fantasies.
Alack! That I could stop and pick some.
A gypsy has no roots, no home.
But my journey's just begun.
I wander afar, upon a whim.
And race home, once my wandering's done.
Some moss is bound to grow underfoot.
It's the way things are.
But when it does, my friend.
I'll roll along to lands afar.
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