Home. Lost or dream wept. It is ours to be kept.
The light does reach those corners yet.
Such shadows stretch, some darkly set,
abandoned like a long due debt.
The door may creak, it weathered much.
Oh kindly try, it aches for the touch.
Mark the dust as long history crests.
It sparkles like gold in the shine of one test.
Call them again, let them return,
They who lost all and forgave not the burn.
God does look in and wrap round Eden’s blue,
The mystery days will recall Love’s Rescue.
Pray us home, Lord.
Let history be birth’s new.
Forgive our lost way,
as we come Home to You.
© 2013 Linda Willows
Photograph by Vasil Anastasovski
