The sight of the dawn light peering through the trees of our back lot;
The chirps of the chickadees yearning for spring outside our windows;
The appearance of first buds poking their way to the sun;
The freshening aromas of our flowers and grasses as they reawaken.
The sound of the tea water boiling on our stovetop;
The comfort of the warm aura of the home we crafted together.
The warmth that is love and family and acceptance;
The gratitude for a wonderful journey down many highways and back roads.
The shoulder to weep upon.
The hand to hold.
This is why I want you home, my dear, for our one last trip together.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem