Driving home for Christmas.
(Not by Chris Rea)
Long road, stretches out ahead
And all I yearn for is my bed.
As I pass beneath each rushing, flashing light.
Weary mind and body, yield to this dark night.
As infinite white lines blur and flash by,
And manmade stars revolve, in a velvet sky.
I slouch, with elbow propped on narrow ledge,
Hypnotised by passing verge and dark speeding hedge.
Twenty five more motorway miles,
To see my children’s morning happy smiles.
Drive from night. to early morning grey,
To be home again, with them, on Christmas Day.
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com