Wandering and Pondering

- jan-u-wine

O, friendly road,
Your homely dust I feel
even now,
turning on this black journeys' wheel.

The quiet river,
the sweet piping of the birds:
Sounds which now
Only in my dreams are heard.

Trees whose branches
Speak only of spring...
Scent of new-turned soil,
Borne on warm winds wing.

O, that my only darkness
Lay within the fox's den,
The only blade the thistle's
prickly kin.

How long this starless road,
and I can't see the end.
Bound by my promise:
shall I never see home again?