Coming back I came upon the border full of scars With a borrowed map spread on my knee. I was thinking Already my hands were grown old With five tied tongues apiece. I had always been shall we say Safer When the fields were greener Over there, But nowhere near demanding Nowhere new. (To get there I might add unnoticed I had hauled pride like a chain And worn my hunger like A fat belt.) And here I am again Home again With a new map of the old days Like a traveller with Ten new marvels. And here is that same old house As if moving Glad to accommodate departure Full of new doubts The same room with half a roof Wearing the same effigies. I will move in.
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Warren Wedin email@example.com