BACK HOME

Returning back home,
cross-legged and nowhere to roam,
bird songs, leaves blowin.

Squirrels in their holes,
birds sing in this wilderness,
place of perfect rest.

Sat up straight legs crossed,
incense burns and floats aloft,
– my home, no more lost!

People they don’t change,
neither do they stay the same,
cos ‘people are change’.

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