by Barbara Stanley

Created on: February 18, 2009

Destination Home

He walked along the tree-lined lane,

his destination, home.

As he walked, the sights of spring,

gave greater urge to roam.

Each happy, fragrant day of spring,

the little boy would roam.

Always seeking what life would bring,

straying, often, far from home.

The tree-lined lane, now lush with green,

as summer days grew long,

was traveled more, yet rarely seen

as the young man hurried home.

Too busy to appreciate

the summer flowers' bloom,

he dare not risk his being late;

today, he is the groom.

The leaves on trees along the lane

were slowly turning red.

The young man's son has now come home

and hurries off to bed.

The man now walks with his grandson,

each autumn day so dear.

More precious now, the time to roam,

as winter days grow near.

The trees along the lane are bare,

the old man walks alone.

No hurry now, he'll soon be there;

his destination, home.

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