For you, my dear
I am coming home.
The weather is acting in spite
As the dead oak remains ash gray
And the sky’s filled with clouds.
The moon, you cannot see
And the birds fly free away in crowds.

The sun’s beams delicately awaits,
Before the shadow of the mountain’s peak
And the blue that the sky once beheld
Still remains so,
Hidden from the gray long lasting
Winter snow

I see it,
The valley green of California’s land
The sun that rises before
The ocean’s warm grainy sand.

For cold is gone,
Yet warmth awaits.

For you, my dear,
I am coming home.
Leaving behind the
Bitterness of snow,
And into the familiar foothills
My eyes long to see
That stretch out endlessly
Before me.

As The sun’s orange glow fills the sky
I let out an allayed sigh

Alas!
For you, my dear,
And only you
I have come home.