Routine

Sometimes old places can be best ones too;
There's nothing that's inherently not right
In going to a place night after night
And liking it. And there's a virtue to
Consistency, not foolish, no, but true,
Intentional, thought-out, solid, and tight.
We need not seek the shiniest new bright
Discovery: we can, and sometimes do
Like what we have - and what else is our love
But the inherent recognition of
A place worth visiting once and again,
Evermore returning ever more?
To which when we return (I do mean when)
We find ourselves increasing to adore?