Yes It’s Time

I sit here in this foreign clime
Skyscrapers far as the eye can sweep
And strange rurals, bring forth a yawn
Once joys, now all things I detest
I’m going home, aye, yes it’s time.

My home so many scribe, regale
Of craven and the ones of brawn
The men of yore adorned in crests
Words that make one laugh and weep
And yet fall flat upon truth’s tale

The hills that rise and fall gently
Row upon row of verdant breasts
Their knolls soft, their valleys deep
That lull in dusk as well as dawn
My lands of home they call to me

Oh yes, my life will travel and roam
Yet never thought these sojourns would keep
Me so long from the lands that I love best
This homesickness must be withdrawn
Aye, yes it’s time, I’m going home

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Trying out David James’ Karousel form.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Form For All: Karousels and Weaves