Home is Better Than Abroad

Let the wind toss the stars around the heavens.
Let the sun crinkle the leaves
We'll be safe enough, smug enough, seven
Days out of seven.

Some must pack their bags and take a car,
To pubs that sit the roads that lie afar.
What do we care, we've enough to eat.
A book, and a bed my sweet.

They'll ride the trains along the tracks.
Walk haggard streets in fancy slacks.
Indulging public hugs with private passion.
And sip the tepid tea in common fashion.

The world is wide, as wide as this bed;
With information that we've sneaked and read.
We'll challenge the stars, rail at the wind.
While others practice conscientious sin.

[Spring will be a little early this year.—Ed.]