Homesick

I set out on the road again, to the twists of the bidden way,
where the trees bend and the forks end in the wrath of a crooked fray;
where the crows sigh and the wolves reply in a savage hunting tune,
while the heinous shades of the wild wood blot out the watchful moon.

I set out on the road again, for the hope of a small retreat,
from the mortal hill and the winter chill for the relief of weary feet.
And all I have is this waxen flame to light the lonely road,
which wanders on till it comes upon the sight of that warm abode.

I set out on the road again, to keep the flame about,
and weather the pains of biting rains and soften thunder’s shout;
all for the hope of that little shack, the place I trust my life,
where love abounds in persons two: my child and my wife.