The landing gear jerks as it hits the ground.
The coach wheels pound the M25.
Why does it feel so good
To be alive?
All my journeys lead here: home I am bound.
There where all my stories are told,
And so tongue-tied I speak of these.
I wish I could speak Welsh.
My simple pleasures transcribed to banalities.
My mind sending me signals. I have to laugh.
The sun warms my room, and I see
Through net curtains a scene,
A past spring, a well of
Knowledge. How far have I come
To return from where I am?
My face is wet, and I feel ecstasy.
The trees drip and wash away my vanity.
Water-logged, the Green forgives
And I forget, and that is good.
Tempting clouds gather above.
I trip and slip in the puddles.
The light from in me dances.
I feel I've beaten the odds,
Confounded the chances.
[Written on returning from three months in the USA. The Green here is Jesus Green.]
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