Returning Home
When the western sky is flushed with crimson,
A handful of light nests upon your lips;
Your eyes are the evening lamps—the chime of cow-bells
Expresses the joy of returning home…
My Bird, do you know that I am losing my way?
As the noon rolls, a mass of fog
Turns to ice around my eyes;
Do you know, as the evening falls,
A cluster of cacti grows
Waiting upon the path?
Do you know, a thousand suns
Are covered in the dark
In the house?
Can’t you glow a single night
With the touch of your glowing light…
A handful of light nests upon your lips;
Your eyes are the evening lamps—the chime of cow-bells
Expresses the joy of returning home…
My Bird, do you know that I am losing my way?
As the noon rolls, a mass of fog
Turns to ice around my eyes;
Do you know, as the evening falls,
A cluster of cacti grows
Waiting upon the path?
Do you know, a thousand suns
Are covered in the dark
In the house?
Can’t you glow a single night
With the touch of your glowing light…
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