“Coming Home,” New Era, Aug. 1989, 26
Coming Home
Coming home one snowy eve
I paused just underneath the trees
to watch the sun’s fast fading light
surrender to the cloudy night.
In some fenced yard far down the hill
a dog barked twice, and then was still;
alarmed, perhaps, by some night sound
that came from shadows cast around.
The yellow windows’ brilliant glow
cut through the twisting, tumbling snow
to warm the peaceful, lonesome dark
as if a beacon to my heart
that called to me to enter in
and fill my full cup o’er the brim.
My family’s voices raised in song
embraced me as I crossed the lawn
and held me close like a dear friend
to greet me at my journey’s end.
Of all the joy I’ve ever known,
the most was felt when coming home.