I am at home with myselfWherever I am,Thank God.But there was a time When I required more.So I understand the needFor book and chair,And tea, And hearth,And familiar footfalls In the corridor,And even for the great structureOf mud and plaster,Board, and brick,And paint,That rises up around it all.And I understand Why people stayEven when the enemy Is at their doors.It is home.  It is the sacred thingThey feel while thereThat binds them fastAnd will not let them go.And so, They stay untilThey can stay no more.And only at the point of bayonet Will they be torn away.But I am a traveler.I have learned To wander.And so,I go.And where I stop Is home.

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