hearthside

I'm looking in the window
of a Norman Rockwell scene
the table nicely set
the children squeaky clean

their heads are bowed in prayer
the blessings all abound
they have no needs or fears
and love is all around

I glance down at bare feet
I note my dirty rags
I think of all the things
I've stuffed in mended bags

my heart belies my hopes
and scorns my optimism
I know I don't belong
my past will bring a schism

like Antony I'm pausing
just beyond the threshold
wishing to come in
be safe within the fold

my ears can scarce believe
the voice comes low and strong
"Come in, you're missed!" I hear
could it be I now belong?