By Tom King
I’m far away; a stranger in a strange land.
My heart is elsewhere in the soil of another place.
I used to think I carried home around with me.
But it seems a part of me still occupies a former space.
The power of the familiar draws us all at last,
When our denouement comes stumbling down the lane
And life passes haltingly before us one more time,
The picture album so long closed now opens up again.
If you live to be old, life doesn’t flash before your eyes,
There at the last. It scrolls itself out – pages plucked by chance
From memory - misty, age-dimmed, yet calling softly still;
An invitation, time-faded, to a well-remembered dance
Photo © Copyright Chris Reynolds and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.