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,