going home

Bring it on home someday

That crusted accumulation of years

And we’ll pass around

A bowl of remembrance

And break the bread

On future days

 

Oh sad is the night, the day

And all the years I’ve been away

To be alone amongst men

And to repeat that day again

And again

 

To bring it home someday

An empty bowl, a cupboard bare

You’ve set a table of decay

And blank faces stare

 

With a willful sorrow they aired

So all would know they cared

They recalled the bowl and sighed

Who was this man that died?