The old, good smell
Of three-hundred-year floorboards
Greets me like a mutt
The moment I walk in.
The house is quiet,
But a light is burning,
And a note on the chalkboard
Welcomes me home.
There are places and places.
Most of them just flow by.
A few linger like incense -
And some lodge deep in flesh,
Resisting entropy,
The normal wear of time,
And all other claimants
To the wandering, homesick heart.
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