And the mile-posts on the road have got behind you unaware,
Making Home.
There were joys your heart was craving, but you never gathered them;
Fragrant buds that yearned to blossom, but you hacked them from the stem;
Hearts of children, erring sometimes—ah, but golden through and through,
Beating back to where you led them, big with love of home and you!
Now you see them in the distance, making Home,
Like the three red lights you watched to-night receding from your view,
Making home.
So you sit with eyes wide open, seeing where you’ve been the fool,