Home Drive Poem by Edwin Hopper

Driving home down a Wiltshire avenue.
Past a stone age mound and a gypsy camp.
Thatched houses. The sign of a pub I knew.
A classic motor, on a garage ramp.

Two nearly nude women, out for a jog.
Our house, past the trees. The core of my life.
Park in the drive. Large wags from a small dog.
Big hugs and kisses. My wise witty wife.

A patio supper. Some distant church bells.
A TV detective. Stories of dread.
E mails from grandchildren. So much to tell.
A snog on the couch. Now cuddle in bed.

Yes of course. I know. I’m a lucky sod.
It almost makes you believe there’s a God.