The Way Home
January 4, 2021
The Way Home
Many dreams I have dreamed
That are all now gone.
The world mirrored in a dark pool,
How unearthly it shone!
But now I have comfort
From the things that are,
Nor shrink too ashamed from the self
That to self is bare.
More than soft clouds of leaf
I like the stark form
Of the tree standing up without mask
In stillness and storm,
Poverty in the grain,
Warp, gnarl, exposed,
Nothing of nature’s fault or the years’
Slow injury glozed.
From the thing that is
My comfort is come.
Wind washes the plain road:
This is the way home.
Robert Laurence Binyon (1869 – 1943)
Binyon, an English poet, dramatist, and art scholar is most know for his Remembrance Day poem, ‘For The Fallen’, which reads in part:
“They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them.”
weisserwatercolours 
….ah, well, so indeed is that red building in my painting merely the dream of a home I might have had. My best to you, Schnark.
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At the moment nothing is any more than a dream.
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….so thoughtful of you, Francina. The very same best wishes back. Let’s make 2021 our own.
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Beautiful painting and poem combined, Lance. Best wishes and creativity for 2021.
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….is that your red-sailed boat, or just a dream of a boat?
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Thanks Lance. And you as well.
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Is that your home we can see, or just a dream of home?
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Pleasure. Have a wonderful day.
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….thank you Goff for visiting and commenting–your site has many personal sharings
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….thank you Kerfe, very much. You and Nina are an inspiration.
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Beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing.
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This is a beautiful meditation, both words and painting, (k)
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