Poem January 8, 1979 Issue

Home—free!

Gloria Clements

Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!
Ready or not, you must be caught!
"Its" warning singsong thundered.
Hidden from view and half distraught,
I silently challenge that "must,"
till daring to leave my hiding place,
I move to the next with trust.

"It" spies me now from outer space,
But I elude "It," and we race!
I touch the elm and shout with glee,
Oly oly ome-free!
When I touch "home," "It" can't touch me:
I'm wholly, wholly, home—free!

My hiding places? Truths I know.
Such truths as these have ousted woe:
Love is with me, all around,
beside, behind, before, below.
In Love I move, or stand my ground—
I cannot from Love's presence roam.
Love's with me—infinite Love's my home.

Gloria Clements

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