When I was young, I had no desire to grow roots.
Home happened where ever I kicked off my boots.
Now that I have traveled many lands,
I wish only to go back home.
To feel it, to see it, to hold it in my hands.
I wish no longer to roam.
Youth tends to be arrogant and blind.
Not knowing what I had, for home was mine.
Now it is the place for which I yearn.
The place from which I came, and wish to return.
The passing of time can have a strange effect on the heart.
After many wasted years, one wants to be back where we start.
Funny how being away for so long can change a soul.
Just as equally strange how coming home can make one whole.
This is where I will always belong,
For this is where my soul is at ease and my heart beats strong.