The familiar comfort lingers,
amid the throng of foreign faces, the flood of strangeness.
So during lonely days, I bring old intimacies in a haze.
Oh, I can sense Mom’s supple hand,
smell the citrus of the Camry, harken the hum of the city,
the tickled taste of cherries or the flitter of amber canaries,
— things I love, latched into my mind’s mausoleum.
But as I walk on, through the lavished green, over the hidden ravine,
no longer am I adrift in an exotic
land, nor invisible amongst the bright and grand
All that is here becomes the familiar,
where I sigh at the serenity of the silver Tower and its chiming hours,
Whirring through a loop of friends,
I hail the mornings of fresh elation, with the be
ating of Gold and Royal pulsation.
Passion, ambition, ideas buzz through the glades, bringing a thought that I cannot evade:
Here is home.