Poetry of Kansas


When we go home, though the night be black
    And a bitter wind abreast,
No matter how weary and long the way
    We know that the end is rest.
There are lights ahead through the cold night rain
    And a welcome waiting when
Our feet turn into the old, old paths
    And we go home again.
There's never a sky that shelters us
    Like the one that glows above
The broad gray roof that is covering those
    Of the blood and the name we love.
There's never a pleasant sun-lit road
    In all of the ways we roam
Like the little, narrow, familiar street
    That runs by the door of home.
It's the prayer of the wandering, storm-tossed soul,
    It's the cry of a heart's distress
That is wrung from sorrow, or shame or grief
    In the hour of their bitterness.
It's the old refrain on the whitened llps
    Of the wayfaring sons of men:
"When we go home, when we go home.
    When we go home again!"

The Call of Kansas and Other Poems
Esther M. (Clark) Hill
(Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. __)
Page 48

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November 12, 2002 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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