Home Is Where the Heart Is

There are pieces of a quilt, that I still call my home They are kept alive in memory, and are there to keep me warm When the chill of frigid winter, or the still of an afternoon It wraps me up in comfort's arms with love that fills the gloom I close my eyes, and can see it there, and I am home again The house, each room, my family, the place it all began There are grassy acres, with long white fences and a house with no pretentions Standing in the morning sun, a pinto horse is watching me and clamoring for attention A small corral… my Dad in Levi's…and a pitchfork heaped with hay A barn, some stalls, a chicken house, a clothes line, filled with white sheets, waving Sweet fragrant fields, alfalfa rows, five peach trees in pink bloom Across the road a melon field, intertwining through the loom Inside the house, some bacon fries, we hear morning radio drama Clattering of dishes, and the chattering soap-stars, and at the sink, would be my Mama The kitchen decked in a sunshine yellow, as warm as melted butter A breakfast nook, the table set, and a pile of school day clutter A living room, a window wide, where a mountain towers over That was way back when, where I began.....and now it's something other.... A wedding ring, and years went by, the home had changed, and so did I... A different place, with acres too, and long white fences, and a house with no pretentions Standing in the morning sun, are oak groves, fruit trees, clamoring for attention There are gardens woven with flowers, and some growing things to eat Clattering of dishes, and a CD playing,...Sweet!... In the living room, from the window wide, many mountains live here too... Living on the northern tip,....my California view Some things have changed, some things have not I've been quite lucky.....for what I've got This home I knew, the quilt I’ve sewn, it keeps me warm, where I call home...