December 5, 2016 by phicks2012
For no real reason, I decided to compose a short verse about “home” and the various forms it takes. I do things like that. I don’t really NEED a profound reason to subject others to my poetic attempts. So here it is, for what it’s worth, and I home that some (aside from readers of our monthly SCA Shire Newsletter) may find merit in it.
Upon a wind-swept strand or wooded hill,
By Lakeland shore, or yet by forest way;
In foothills where the rushing rivers spill,
Or on the plains where raging storms hold sway,
We build our cottages of wood and stone,
Or palaces with towers reaching high,
Or lodges where the mountains stand alone
And snow-crowned giants reach to touch the sky.
There round about the blooming roses nod,
Their sweet miasma rich upon the air.
Enthroned in succulents, or verdant sod,
Or whatsoever we have planted there.
And from the kitchen wafting scents are born,
Of richly browning loaves, or roasting meat,
There we find solace when our lives are torn,
And peace in victory and in defeat.
There we may slumber, held in the embrace
Of those we love, their love made manifest,
Where life may pause to wear a kindly face,
At home where weary souls may safely rest.
[11 November A.S. LI, 2016]