(C) R.L.K.
Snow-draped maple beside an old bungalow,
White beside white at the end of a road --
A place one might return to
After the doing and daring,
After the beck and call,
After it all,
At twilight, a weary soul might return.
And,
As this train speeds me on
Towards the winter hills,
Towards the darkening sky,
I think, after all this time,
All in good time,
No more goodbyes.
