Coming Home

When the world with time has wilted,
made blurry through our aging eyes,
there'll be a face made brighter still,
that will shine among sombre skies.

And when the trees have lost their green,
when birdsong seems to slowly fade,
there'll be that gentle whisper still,
which in the wind will serenade.

When all around us seems to groan,
when all the songs have now been sung,
come home, you'll find a face there still,
a face you've loved since you were young.