As nice as trips away can be,
Whether near or far off places.
And all they new present to me,
Their different varied spaces.

I always have a gentle yearning,
Almost from the very start.
To be backward from it turning,
Towards the place which holds my heart.

Such that I'm quite distracted there,
And perhaps fail to detach.
Rid myself of domestic care,
Though removed from my workday patch.

And as time moves on throughout,
The yearning gets much stronger.
As I think of it ever more about,
Until I can bear the thought no longer.

Then arriving at my final day,
At the completion of my roam.
When all is done of my time away,
It's a joy to come back home.