| My Heart's at Home |
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My mind is travelling down Along a winding dusty track, To find my childhood home; If I just wander back. It's a journey o'er the hill. But when I reach the brow, All the panorama's there in view And I am there, right now. The walls I see are peeling off. The bricks are tumbling down. Gaping holes, in the windows, Make a whistley sound. The hinges, that were oiled, Now, squeak with rusty grind. The verandah is all dusty. My Mama would have pined. Wild are the flower beds That were her pride and pleasure. Bushes, weeds, and creepers Grow everywhere, at leisure. I still hear my Papa's boots Thumping up the path, With his happy whistle Splashing in the bath. I meander from room to room, See the curtains drooping there. Bare walls stare at me. No heart is anywhere. My Mama's voice now echoes. "Bloss," she calls, "come here." I peep inside the pantry, But find no mother there. Maybe, I'll find her in the garden, Watering with the hose; Her hair drying in the wind, Bending down to smell a rose. In the colours of the paint, I feel her presence close And, then, I smell the smoke From the copper fireplace she chose. Sunshine teases with the shadows. My fancy wanders free. I hear the piano play, 'Telling of The Father's love' for me. My heart had it's beginning, Back here, when I was young. The years may change the house. But, my memory's just begun. My reflection may be mellowed, Recalling laughter and some tears; The willing feet that put in place, Every day, down through the years. Time has returned the past for me, That I left to gather dust. Now, all I have is memory; The best of yesterday, I trust. Such childhood memories, What treasure are they worth? To enrich our life today, That love continues to give birth. A special hill view farmhouse Is where my heart still likes to roam. That house was more than just a house. For me, it was my home. |
| Other poems by Derry A large collection of poems, submitted by Derry |
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