Long way home

I often take a long way home

As I walked down the seventh street,

I'd pick up a fallen leaf and lay it amidst the pages of my book,

Yet sometimes I'd wish I could put it back on the stalk it belonged.

I'd have the urge to peek into a bus as it erept through the masses,

Yet sometimes I'd want to get on the bus and let it take me home.

I'd talk with the stray pooch under the street light and offer to come with me,

Yet sometimes I'd wish I could make him home where he was

I'd keep strolling along the road Fiddling and fascinating my brain with details,

Yet all the times, I'd be home.