Wistful (Poetry)

I long to go back — but I cannot return
to that house in an ordinary road
because someone else is now living where
all my childhood hopes were sowed.

Some unknown soul spends every night
in my long-vacated room
and leans on that same windowsill
to gaze up at the same moon.

No doubt they see the same old stars
for there’s some things never change
but places alter with the years —
seem different somehow — strange.

’Though at times I yearn to go for real
I just close my eyes and relax —
let memory take each wistful thought
and guide me gently back.