Fay Slimm.

This Time.

 

This Time.

 

Holed with vermillion stars November\'s
near-night spreads eerie welcome over
my slow returning-here footsteps
and bounded by heathering hills gentler
decades strike ache in my heartstrings
as roots sink into home\'s velvet skin.

 

This time, smelling remembered aroma
of moorland\'s lavender fringes while
twilight\'s finger striates late sky
my wanderer\'s eyes close in tune with
known coastal sounds as ocean below
cliffs pounds rock into sandy coves.

 

At last beauty of quiet pierces too long
an absence, punctures stale failure and
I ask why, when once abandoned 
for wealth or ambition\'s control do feet
turn again to childhood\'s ever familiar
where adult greets tender ghosts
and previous pleasures begin to unroll.

 

Now regret mingles with frenetic years 
as busy yields when nostalgia takes  
stress to results which wholly appeal,
so this time  - - I know I must stay.