I am at home with myself

Wherever I am,

Thank God.

But there was a time 

When I required more.

So I understand the need

For book and chair,

And tea, And hearth,

And familiar footfalls 

In the corridor,

And even for the great structure

Of mud and plaster,

Board, and brick,

And paint,

That rises up around it all.

And I understand 

Why people stay

Even when the enemy 

Is at their doors.

It is home.  

It is the sacred thing

They feel while there

That binds them fast

And will not let them go.

And so, 

They stay until

They can stay no more.

And only at the point of bayonet 

Will they be torn away.

But I am a traveler.

I have learned 

To wander.

And so,

I go.

And where I stop 

Is home.