Behind the corner, over that far hill
Where the last train pulls into the last station
And steam expires into the gold dusk chill-
That’s Peace Of Mind, the final destination.
And somewhere up ahead, the traveler,
Who now must haul his bag up on his shoulder,
Knows there’s a place nearby where old friends are,
Friends who are never getting any older:
Some kind of cottage with a southwest view,
A kitchen-garden, as the mail insisted,
Grape-arbor, and an outdoor barbecue.
Who might have thought that such a place existed?
Halfway he stops and looks back with a sigh.
A plume of smoke still towers in the sky.