Poetry

POETRY

Autumn – my garden

HOMECOMING

How strange it is
coming home to oneself
after all this time.

to find that there is time enough and more
to do the things I love
having first relinquished the requirement to achieve.

the richness of days – not worrying how many may remain –
each hour full of texture like the nubbled wool
of homespun tapestry

Time passes
and time has stopped
in the ever-present now

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