The prairies are a wondrous sweep
Of golden grains or grasses, deep,
And there, on any clear-ish nights,
A vast and velvet space—no lights,
Where darkness is so deep and soft,
And none but stars up there. Aloft.
But when the work has kept me late,
Out in that dark, as I relate,
And when I’m finally headed home,
Determined nevermore to roam,
There’s not a sight so sweet to me,
As lighted windows that I see.
And as I move from dark to light,
From cool to warm and blind to sight,
I know that family will be there,
And warmth and love and daily fare...
The years have passed, the city now,
Embraces all. My needs endow.
But still on darkish nights when I,
Must be about, our needs supply,
There’s nothing quite like heading home,
Determined nevermore to roam,
And not a sight more sweet to me,
Than lighted windows that I see.
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
Have crafted poems for you to see,
And now you've read what we have brought,
Did we help?
Or did we not?
