Here's another piece that contrasts travel with staying at home;

The Lock-Keeper by Stan Rogers

You say, "Well-met again, Lock-keeper!
We're laden even deeper than the time before
Oriental oils and tea brought down from Singapore."
As we wait for my lock to cycle
I say, "My wife has given me a son."
"A son!" you cry, "Is that all that you've done?"

She wears bougainvillea blossoms
You pluck 'em from her hair and toss 'em in the tide
Sweep her in your arms and carry her inside
Her sighs catch on your shoulder;
Her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through her tears
And I say, "How could you stand to leave her for a year?"

"Then come with me," you say, "to where the Southern Cross
Rides high upon your shoulder."
"Come with me!" you cry
"Each day you tend this lock, you're one day older
While your blood runs colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam
And I wouldn't trade your life for one hour of home.

Sure I'm stuck here on the Seaway
While you compensate for leeway through the Trades;
And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made
And you laugh at hearts you've riven
But which of these has given us more love of life
You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife?

"Then come with me," you say, "to where the Southern Cross
Rides high upon your shoulder."
"Ah come with me!" you cry
"Each day you tend this lock, you're one day older
While your blood runs colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam
And I wouldn't trade your life for one hour of home.

Ah your anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam
And I wouldn't trade your whole life for just one hour of home.