THE JOURNEY

I walked many miles
On the flat, barren land;
And green were the isles
In the ocean of sand;


But the isles were illusion
In that infinite tract -
As the heat caused a fusion
Of fiction and fact -


So that when you came
I doubted my eyes
I thought you the same -
The way the land lies;


But, when I left you,
The land itself changed:
I felt I moved to
A garden exchanged;


I walked many miles
On grass and on dew,
Knowing, all the while,
I walked back to you.