Home At Last
by cricketjeff on August 19, 2011. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
There’s an island with a cottage, in the stream below the falls
Past a bridge of wood and granite and a maze of dry-stone walls
There are larks above me singing there’s an eagle far away
And I wish that I could be there where my dreams escape to play
There are boulders big as buses that are warmed by summer’s sun
And each evening there are starlings in an endless whirl of fun
In the spring the blues and yellows merge as mists above the green
And my mind is apt to go there when my life is not serene
Through the year the colours cycle and the weather does the same
In the cottage smells of baking, and the cook who is to blame
I can feel the love within it where my happiness lies curled
Open smiles and friendly laughter insulation from the world
There’s an island, there’s a cottage, there’s a dream, sweet poetry
Though it isn’t in existence that’s the place I want to be
English