Returning

Home of my childhood,
And I return once more.
Night is closing in,
I pause beside the door.

So long ago...we children,
Romped and played with ease.
Chased the kitten all around,
And climbed the apple-trees.

That same old sound,
Of a running brook.
Turned me around,
For a second look.

For the evening colors draped the path,
I tip-toed by the spring.
Where I watched among the branches there,
A flock of fluttering wings.

On to the house...beside the door,
Where a rocking chair was kept.
And in the tiredness of her day,
My mother slept.


E.P. 1908 - 1989