GLAD to be back home again, <br />Where abide the friendly men; <br />Glad to see the same old scenes <br />And the little house that means <br />All the joys the soul has treasured— <br />Glad to be where smiles aren't measured, <br />Where I've blended with the gladness <br />All the heart has known of sadness, <br />Where some long-familiar steeple <br />Marks my town of friendly people. <br /> <br />Though it's fun to go a-straying <br />Where the bands are nightly playing <br />And the throngs of men and women <br />Drain the cup of pleasure brimmin', <br />I am glad when it is over <br />That I've ceased to play the Rover. <br />And when once the train starts chugging <br />Towards the children I'll be hugging, <br />All my thoughts and dreams are set there; <br />Fast enough I cannot get there. <br /> <br />Guess I wasn't meant for bright lights, <br />For the blaze of red and white lights, <br />For the throngs that seem to smother <br />In their selfishness, each other; <br />For whenever I've been down there, <br />Tramped the noisy, blatant town there, <br />Always in a week I've started <br />Yearning, hungering, heavy-hearted, <br />For the home town and its spaces <br />Lit by fine and friendly faces. <br /> <br />Like to be where men about me <br />Do not look on me to doubt me; <br />Where I know the men and women, <br />Know why tears some eyes are dimmin', <br />Know the good folks an' the bad folks <br />An' the glad folks an' the sad folks; <br />Where we live with one another, <br />Meanin' something to each other. <br />An' I'm glad to see the steeple, <br />Where the crowds aren't merely people.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/back-home-9/
