Homeward Bound

Homeward Bound

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He sat with dreams of going home
staring through the window.
He wondered at the need to roam
that moved him long ago.

He closed his eyes and he could see
the shamrock fields so bright,
the rolling hills of greenery
that sparkled in the light.

He inhaled deep. A morning mist
carried the sea to him
in tiny drops, a gentle kiss,
tossed on a breeze's whim.

He heard the heart of Ireland
as childhood tunes returned
like waves upon a Gaelic strand;
a rhythm early learned.

He felt the tears come in his eyes.
He'd waited much too long.
This illness would be his demise;
he was no longer strong.

A wracking cough made him aware
death's angel was quite near.
His final thoughts, an Irish prayer.
The end came without fear.

He felt the grip of death's cold hand
that pulled him from the world
yet he could sense the light expand
as stars around him swirled.

A veil of brightness seemed to fill
with shapes he thought he knew.
A cottage sat upon a hill.
Could this mirage be true?

He saw a familiar weathered lane,
a path of darkened loam.
No angels needed to explain –
for he was going home.


An entry for March round of "SENIOR CENTER FORUM" 
Prompt: Must use the word "Ireland"

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