Glare of sun on yellow sands,
Caves with markings strange and old.
Wind-swept plains of other lands,
Mus-made hovel, shepherd's fold
Blue of sea and blue of sky,
Great cathedral, spire and dome,
foreign tongues and market place-
I am longing to be home.

I can hear the mantle clock,
see the little winding lane,
Window boxes, books and shelves,
Here the rocker's creak again.
Now I'm near the garden gate,

Low fence pickets painted white,
Talking with a Neighbour Friend
seems the home folks were just right.

Wide the world and wonder filled,
but when seen through tears that blind
It is like a stranger's house
and it is not very kind
seems I hear you calling me
maybe you are lonely too-
what s the world without you dear
I am going home to you

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