Portmanteaux packed and loaded, a new life is my call
In going I am coming home, to rivers, forests and swan
And all the hustle-bustle I leave behind for all
As I start my life anew, as one.
In joyous solitude shall I bide, to be alone at last
I see it in the forest glade, among these misty leaves
The darkness and the shadows seem so very vast
And sleeping under ink-black skies deceives.
And so I travel homeward, a long, long journey home
Where waters lap so sweetly there lives a gentle swan
Which to the forest edge and by the glade does come
A gentle flutter of my heart so finally at one.
©Joe Wilson – Going home…
A poem in the style of W B Yeats (1865-1939)
After re-reading The Lake Isle of Innisfree