Wanderlust

At times I feel the urge to break my shell
to wipe the veil of tension from my mind
and leave all stifling loving care behind
to check out what the screeching seagulls tell

and plod on down the blue-eyed morning, past
the copse I used to play in, past the site
of the old house where my young years took flight
and though the village till I gaze at last

upon the road that's never lost its lure -
as on and on I failed to reach my goal
it's kept its promise and its glamour whole
but then, one's deepest longings will endure:

they will accost me when I take the air
and pester me wherever I may roam
on hills and roads that always lead back home
and I will ever find them waiting there.