Walter C. Edwards

When winter seems eternal,
always calls to me,
fall calls to me as well,
swinging big with church bells,
laughter so grand in my twilight,
shining so bright,
summer lights,
tigers and daffodils,
until the early morning of spring,
when you hold a young ones hand,
that is when it all begins,
once again to that lonely heart,
that long journey home.
that you think no one ever has know,
in you darkest hours,
the long journey home,
is a solemn trip down a dusty road.