Welcome Home

Rain beats a tango on my window pane. 
Welcome home it sings as it casts 
memories of where it used to be.
The ripples of lowland lakes 
that quake in a steady breeze 
scented with the blooming gifts 
of hawthorn trees.

And streams that run over granite slopes 
cascade down over rugged ground 
to irrigate bog and fen home to egret 
and dark moorhen, to duck and drake, 
goose and gander. 
Stream meanders on to form a river 
lower down.
Blues and sorrows drown 
in the cleanness of April showers. 
Welcome home in whispers

– Dave Kavanagh

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