The trains roar past on their way south and west.
Like me, they love to wander and to roam
away from this place which is my new nest.
Each friend is welcome here, to be my guest;
some of them like to stand outside as random
trains roar past towards south and west.
It’s hard to say which trip has been the best;
but, though I’m fond of travel, I must come
back to this place which has become my nest.
My life has seemed at times a bitter test,
stability eluded me, lonesome
like empty trains that roar to south and west.
I have found much peace here, peace and rest,
and gratitude at owning my first home:
this lovely place which has become my nest.
Of you, my darling man, just one request:
to come and visit when you read this poem.
The trains roar past on their way south and west
below the place which I now call my nest.