You Coming Home

I come home, sit
by the window
at nightfall after the close
of a hard day,
hard month, 
hard year.

I wish there were
softer tidings
in the air.

I sit by the window,
imagine you
as the dawn
of softer days,
months, years;

sit straining to hear
whispers of
you coming home.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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