I see the home-smoke mist the glittering day,
And the turn of the broader road that leads to town
Beckons me too - and I ask " which way - which way?"
Autumn is on our trees and on well-loved faces
Warm in our valley the hearth and the hearts I know
Still strong is the call of the unfamiliar places
I ask of the wind "to return - or to turn and go?"
In the many coloured town, some door to glory
May open on worlds I might know - or never will?
Or a warp of words might weave yet an untold story?
I shall not be there - I turn and go down our hill.