Home

He dons his hat, and buckles his shoe and sets off briskly down the road.
For he knows the way is long, and not yet is he home.
People he meets and people he greets, with a smile upon his face.
Their faces smile but their eyes are still, and he knows he's not yet home.

Garden gates on both sides of the road, Within there's peace they say,
With a single glance he passes by for inside there are those who lost their way.
Further down, his path is shut: The road a boulder blocks.
To his right he sees a fellow walker, Her eyes too, upon the rock.

With a nod at the other, but without a word, they set about clearing the space,
for those who will follow (their comrades) come the following days.
They push, they roll, they pull and shove to move the rock aside.
Slowly, slowly, the boulder moves, revealing the road it hides.

With a smile in their eyes, they shake their hands
and wipe their sweaty brows,
they're nearer home, but along the way
They have a task, they now know.

The two comrades, they stride along, and now that they are twice,
they clear from the trail for those behind, any hindrances that arise.
Not all can they move, but for those they can't they leave messages to see:
"This way leads home but there are rocks ahead. Clear them, if you please"

The sun is low, dusk now dawns and though heavy is their task,
in cheery voices that show no tire about simple things they talk.
Through the night they toil, Moving rubble and stone.
But as the night grows darker, and they grow tired they are joined by many hands more
Pitch dark it is, and the path grows rough; with their eyes they cannot see.
but while their voices sound clear, and their hands can help, home seems closer to be.

At last, he sees a face in the growing morning light; One... Ten... A hundred, catch his weary sight.
Now he smiles and takes off his hat and looks around the crowd.
Ragged and dusty they all seem, But he sees the twinkle in their eyes.
He stops his march and unbuckles his shoes, for he knows he is now at home.