HOMESICK

At last i feel the touch of wool,
As trees dream dreams of spent up summer,
Stripped form head to foot,
By grasping grass of wintry wind,
As the old year passes as cheated fool,
And lament did I ever lost past,
That rub against my face,
And like glue in my conscience,
To gnaw like moles,
In the year to come,
Today we rub shoulders,
With falling feathers,
That smeared my overcoat,
With a melting mess of polluted flakes,
At the bus station,
Face to face,
Once and for all,
And mark it white,
The end of the decade,
At least the sweeping branches,
Clean the dust,
Off the horizon,
And a new year follows in,
Welcomed by blooming skies,
And the sun may shine maybe,
Looking down upon us,
As it tours close to the southern cross,
Close to my native land,
I bet I'll be there,
Before brooding snow fog,
Tacked neath frozen arctic,
Swans like over strayed locusts,
To swallow rooftops,
Of Stockholm,
And knock life,
Out of the leaves of pine.