The Last Journey

The temperature was dropping Her temper rising, At the neighbour's, champagnes popping Into the hot lava, her soul diving. The clock was ticking Taking its time, Time she did not have, Having not spent it to its fullest. A light chill swept past the room Her knees trembling under the table For she could not measure her doom; The chair rocking strangely, legs unstable. She thought about home How she could embrace her Father Having crossed the seas, where she'd roamed. Heart longing for an unimaginable Mother. Gazing at her luggage, she felt burdened. Would it make up for all the heartaches? The whistle blew, and bells rung; For the time had come, the time to go home.