John remembers his time spent travelling but also that the time spent away was used to think about home and his friends causing him to miss them even more.

Av roamed int Rocky Mountins
Swam int crystal Med
Gazed darn on Norway’s fijords,
Seen Mon Blanc’s snowy ‘ead.
Av biked ararnd Lake Como,
An along t’romantic Seine,
Av wander’d i the Pyrenees,
An La Mancha darn in Spain.
Av travell’d most er Europe,
From Bergen darn t Rome,
Burrit nivver stopp’d mi thinkin,
Ov t’wunders back ert ‘ome;
To t’paradox tharriz England,
Rugged yit sublime,
Ov wich a grow moor fonder,
Wit quicknin pace er time.
Nar mi compass narrers,
It’s Thurnscer tharra see,
Orlt wuds an villijs rarnd abart,
Once s dear t me;
Clayton, Hicky, Pickburn, Broddy,
Barnbrer Crags an Marr,
Hooton Pagnell’s daffy wuds,
A worra think ov nar;
Even t’surfis an undergrarnd,
At long-gone Hicky Main,
Wiorlt cheerful comradeship,
Tharr’ll nivver come again.

— John Davison