Going Home by Leland G. Heathco

For my Father

One last road to follow, one more hill to climb
You won’t need your tools this time or a thermos to fill
There’ll be nothing to build; you’ve done your work; it’s time to rest
The foundation has been laid from the most precious of stones
The walls are up and the roof is on, and it’s waiting for you
The builder made everything straight and true as can be
It is worthy of a man like you; one last road and you’re free
There is a chair on the porch; have a seat; you’re finally home.

 

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