At about 10:30 this evening, while waiting for my computer to finish uploading changes to the IWVPA website, I took the opporunity to enjoy the garden that my wife tends with such skill, love, and joy. The wonderful ambience resulted in a rush of words... this poem is the result.

The photograph of part of Maria's beautiful garden was taken on October 13, 2005

HOME...

He sits beneath the Southern Cross on a wrought-iron garden chair
And ponders on the day's events and how tomorrow he will fare
With an inner smile to acknowledge a good day's work's been done
His thoughts turn to other things and the peacefulness he's won

The flagpole that he's dreamed of, now flies his nations' flag
The bronze plaque he once wrote about, exists and he is glad
The mates he went with to war call and visit when they will
Once part of life the storms have eased and the night is still

The scent of eucalyptus trees wafts on the night time breeze
And mingles with aromas of almond, fig, and apple trees
Roses of a hundred types, unseen but clearly there
Transmit their wondrous odour as he sits without a care

And Misty, who adopted him when she was pregnant and alone,
Purrs and brushes against him, content in her adopted home
The mopoke and the night birds call and flutter through the air
And Misty just ignores them. Neither they nor she despair

The bantams are on their night time roost, having laid their daily egg
The rooster (Russell 'cos he crows) keeps them safely in their bed
Enshrined in leaves of flowering bushes, grown with love and pride
An old man sits content, and revels in his love, his life, his bride

And 'neath the Southern Cross this night, the silence suits his mood
Because the old man knows the joy of life, and knows that life is good
Despite the shattering year of war that's lasted more than thirty years
The old man has come to realise that the past holds no more fears

He blinks away the teardrops, stands, and stretches stiffened limbs
And takes the first of several steps towards the love who waits for him
Contented, he's prepared for sleep and sleep will welcome come
Mares of the night still wildly range, but he has come back home!

©Copyright November 29, 2006 by Anthony W. Pahl, OAM

Contributed by Bushranger on November 28, 2006 at 08:20 AM in Anthony Pahl, Coming home, Poetry | Permalink

Comments

Posted by: Bill Faith

Welcome home, Tony. Thank you for the beautiful words.

Posted by: Bill Faith | Nov 28, 2006 9:35:54 AM

Posted by: Jim Bartimus

I think you did an excellent job of defining the picture. Home is the one thing that can actually bind a society into something that really does work. France just proved that socialism and leaning to the left isn't the answer didn't they?

Anyhow, welcome to OWD Tony and make yourself at home. It's a good place to be.

JB

Posted by: Jim Bartimus | Nov 28, 2006 8:08:25 PM

Posted by: Papa Ray

Outstanding. Got something in my eye there at the last.

Papa Ray

Posted by: Papa Ray | Nov 29, 2006 3:41:35 PM