I, home…
come to you when you least expect
at a given price of love wept.

Do not worry too much,
for you shall find me in your dream
in lonely mountains, you shall gleam.

In dark corners of your mind, I shall meet you
until you undress me with your cry
in the meantime, I shall haunt in reply.

In cold winters of those days
you will bid me with strive; 
it is I that will call you with thrive.

Through me and fool me
it is the fuel that shall drive your industry
stop throwing concrete to my country!

Great are the days of your life
if at midnight you ask me of entry
honesty is the best holy of sentry.

Photo © by Hermit

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