The Long Way Home

As he sat in a pew, someone asked
where he was from.

He hadn’t considered it for many years.
He knew where he’d been born
and raised
in old Albion.

But the several places he’d
later lain his
hat
had left him a gypsy
which he sometimes offered
lightheartedly.

When only a teenager
he visited the great southern lands
beyond the equator.
His mother thought he’d never return
but he did.

In the years that followed
he’d felt at home
in the narrow lands
twixt two great continents
a thin green isthmus
small but meaningful.

And more recently
the ancient cradle
where the acacias grow
where he was happy enough
to die.

And now returned to the land
of the long white cloud
he continues the search for home.

Wondering whether it’s a lover
or family
people

places
aromas
vistas
dreams

or still a road diverging in that wood.


John H Davies

VI July 2026