Travelling Home

Lord, when the night falls,
leave me enough light to see
the stars in the water.

When you line the roads
with roaring shadows,
let the house glow in the distance.

Let the sky shine blue for hours
at the fringe of the hills
as the children return from the fields.

When the train slides softly
past endless farmhouses,
ghostly in frost and fog,

let there be a golden wreath
on every bare branch
as your red sun rises.