Doors swing out, dead leaves fall, years push by us.
I’m always on the lookout for the latest new thing,
the next big undertaking, one more shiny penny.
But I always come back to you.
There is nothing so enlivening as the wandering out.
The chance to manufacture for ourselves the ideal,
the perfect, the everlasting – if only for a moment.
But I always come back to you.
Yet I haven’t fooled anyone, least of all myself, not
today anyway. The doors have closed, the leaves
have all scattered, and I’ve stopped pretending,
That I always come back to you
Peace
Copyright 2019
Image Credit: Pixabay
