A little unease that grows with in
In foreign soils, dead and deep
At times it takes, a life of its own
And overshadows all from whence it was borne
A deep longing, for something forlorn
Like a passage from a book, that never was
Just a whiff of parchment, stale and old
The scent lingers, long after the feeling is gone
Mixed with the magicks of old
What is it? Must not say. Must not know
Just let it persist, on and on
Spurring waves, carry me to shore
A yearning set alight, deep within
A farewell to arms, a homage to home
To return, each second, to something lost
Something perilous, something gone
A DESI MUFFIN 
In awe of your writing.