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Albert Martin


All Those Ancient Trees Sorrounded Home


These ancient trees
You are tall
You can touch the branches
All the little chances
To settle your life down
You burnt them down

Well the winter froze the lake
But now the sun shines on it
Father you left home one day
Father you'd forsake
Your wife, your sons, your daughters
And you left them on their way
And it don't matter what you do
Or explain, or think or say
Father you left home one day
And you left them anyway

Here comes the lonesome tramp
He's coming for
Taking you to the places
You've never been before
He'll take you up and down
Along and across the fallen-leaved floor
But nothing that he's able to do
Unless you follow his steps
Until his wooden door

Submitted: Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Topic of this poem: home


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