Dark clouds,
Lonely road,
Friendly trees,
. . . I walk to reach my home.

I come to a crossroad,
To hear a croaking toad,
Which way to go?
. . . the left or the right, be it so?

A puddle or two, a gentle breeze,
Walking past a drone in the trees,
Singing birds, what do they speak?
. . . then the sun comes out, shining past a peak.

Will the leaves sway,
To tell me the way?
. . . the sweet smelling wild flowers may,
Streak their scent, and steal the day.

A tree stump,
A squirrel in the grassy clump,
Pigeons fly here,
… am I any near?

… this tree makes me smile,
Is it the stone to mark the mile?
My journey is soon to end,
Memories to cherish and thoughts to lend.

There I see,
The wooden gate,
. . . here is my garden,
Here is my home