~ Going Home ~

The night is black, the air is still
as I travel the lonely miles,
I picture the end of my journey
and seeing my lover's smile.

Stars are twinkling in the sky,
like beacons, they lead me on.
Just another mile or two
and I'll finally reach my home.

I know that I'll find waiting,
a light shining through the dark,
I'll pull into the driveway
and the dog will begin to bark.

I can already smell the coffee,
its aroma floats in the air.
I'll pour myself a nice hot cup
then relax in my favorite chair.

What comfort are these simple things
I'd not trade for a rich man’s gold,
for all the money in the world
won't love you when you're old.

© Forrest Phelps-Cook
June 2005