JOURNEY’S END
Across green hills and granite mountains
weary yet with pulse still strong
he rode his mare with steaming flanks
he looked, he heard:
the sounds he knew he heard again
the haunting bells and high above
the ravens wheeled with wistful cry
as on he rode:
at dusk he reached the cobbled square
where grasses sighed outside a door
the swinging sign declared his home
his journey’s end:
within the walls with well pail full
she sluiced the flags and combed her hair
a pot of victuals simmered low
in readiness:
his faithful mare unsaddled now
at rest upon the mud and straw
and chumbling on the fresh cut hay
he crossed the yard:
inside the clock of inlaid oak
with rich and shiny patinations
chimed to welcome his return
as he walked in.