Homecoming

The door is always open
in the cottage in the far glen.
I can hear my mother call out
to my father in the garden.
My children gather round him
like the weeds around the flowers.
His stories entertain them
while the minutes turn to hours.

Upstairs my lover's waiting
with my hot bath and my razor.
Her touch can melt the decades
and her kiss burns like a laser.
In the oven dinner's roasting
while a pie cools on the window.
The summer breeze is blowing
but I hardly hear the wind blow.

The grass is green forever
and the moor is filled with heather.
You are here beside me
wearing calico and leather.
Nothing lasts a lifetime
like the roses in the garden,
but the door is always open
in the cottage in the far glen.

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Thatched Cottage

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