Oh! I dream of the day I have my own home
maybe thatched, with roses around the door.
It’s up a sandy, sheltered lane, with a path of loam
soft under my naked feet: a yielding, moving floor.
I have time to write, I have time to stare,
no demands and no choices to make.
Time for nothing, to go nowhere.
No emails, no letters, no time for fakes.
I think of what I have now,
and will let go for my dreams of the future.
A home of my own, a salve to my brow.
It’s a long time coming; I’m not a trooper.
I’m waiting to move, and how.
I don’t wish to journey my life away,
to a place I see in my dreams.
The place I’ll call home is where friends can stay.
It’s the place I’ll return to wherever I roam.
My home, my soon to be, home.
Polly Robinson © 2014
In response to Abhra’s prompt in dVerse poets Poetics : Around the world today – it’s the place for poets to visit, you will be glad you have.