I am not a wanderer.
These feet find too much home
in sandstone slopes
and moss edged red bricks
tucked up in dandelion lawns
and weather worn fence posts.
These souls loose their itch
too close to the boundary mark.
Shutter up too soon after leaving.
Always find a way of looking back
everything I want. I have.
I just have to turn around.
My first poem since January. The prompt was to write a poem about the adventure of travel but I’m not ashamed to say that I’m an utter home bird. I do like visiting new places but I hate being away from home for long. I’m one of those people who’s attachment to their own bed beats almost every other attachment I have.
I like knowing that I’m at home.
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