I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Portmanteaux packed and loaded,  a new life is my call
In going I am coming home, to rivers, forests and swan
And all the hustle-bustle I leave behind for all
As I start my life anew, as one.

In joyous solitude shall I bide, to be alone at last
I see it in the forest glade, among these misty leaves
The darkness and the shadows seem so very vast
And sleeping under ink-black skies deceives.

And so I travel homeward, a long, long journey home
Where waters lap so sweetly there lives a gentle swan
Which to the forest edge and by the glade does come
A gentle flutter of my heart so finally at one.

©Joe Wilson – Going home…

A poem in  the style of W B Yeats (1865-1939)
After re-reading The Lake Isle of Innisfree

This is the last thing, the final time,
No more words, no reason, no rhyme.
I won’t reach out, I won’t pretend,
This is my adieu, this is the refrain.
I’ll vanish far, where no one sees,
Where names are lost in distant breeze.
No one will call, no one will care,
And I won’t leave a shadow there.

Every memory
I’ll let it fade,
Like old songs that silence played.
I’ll forget it all, I’ll close that door,
I won’t come back, not anymore.
But the last song I once replayed,
The one I quietly screen-recorded and saved
That one stays, a soft goodbye,
A sound that holds what I can’t cry.

I won’t return, won’t turn around,
I’m searching now for quieter ground.
A place like Innisfree — still and wide,
Where I can breathe and safely hide.
So this is it
No need to try.
No second thoughts. Just one last sigh.
No one will notice, no one will see...
But maybe that's how it was meant to be.