There are times

When I feel a deep longing

To make my way back there.


The home, deep in the recesses

Of the heartland.


There, I can rest a bit.

Feel the inspiring warmth of a love–

An unending love that never dies.


The path twists and turns, overgrown

With thick, prickly brambles

Roots of ancient trees, fallen leaves.


The path is impenetrable at times.

But the home, it is there. I am sure.


Head, heart and hands have come together

Building this timeless home

Through days lived in the passing of time.


And so, quietly, once more,

I go.