Been there, done that. Up at 2 or 3 AM, couldn't sleep, all packed and ready to go...glad to go...not knowing when I would be back, and that was half the fun...but...
Retreat can be the bugle call which signals end of day for the soldier, or it can mean 'run away'. You decide. Original poem by Donovan Baldwin
There's years of purgatory
Reserved for my poor soul
But I'll not spend my time on earth
Hiding in some hole.
Next time you see a lonesome road
Or alone, walk down some lane
Remember what I've always said
"I'm coming back again."
It's not regret that's run me off
Nor was your love too cool,
It's just that there's a song I hear
Only heard by certain fools.
It sings about a somewhere,
Some place I haven't seen,
And, for me, that's good enough
To have to leave again.
The coffee's hot, the air is cool
The Sun's not out of bed,
On the whiteness of the pillow,
I see the shadow of your head.
The dog is laying by the car,
He knows I'm packed to go.
I'll lace my boots and bolt the door...
God, I hate to leave you so.
There's some who ride the rodeo,
Some drive a truck for days,
Or stand and serve in foreign lands,
Where a lonesome bugle plays.
But the ones like us, we don't get lost
However far we roam,
When someone special's waiting
At the place that we call home.
You know how you can keep me here,
Just ask me not to go.
But understand you'll lose the man
You like to think you know.
So, I'll let the dog inside the house,
Lock you both safely in,
Then hit the road for somewhere else,
'Til I come home again.
(Published Spring 2000, in The Advocate)
Hurst, TX 76053
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