Returning Home

Climbing the hills again, verdant, rolling
welcoming breasts, warm and familiar
sloughing off the journey
returning to the land of my youth

You’ve waited, though not for me
chanting through the ceremonies
the songs for the dead and dying
’tis the voice that calls to me now

A mirror, that reflective lake surface
revealing the deep lines drawn in my heart
though the seasons have come and gone again
the waters rest in their place

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