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Poem

“Where do you come from?” is a query, that most of us have heard
And the answers that are given range from honest to absurd
“My mother” might be appropriate , if a jerk you want to be
But past contrite; the question, still holds ambiguity
What does the poser need to know to complete this obscure tome
Where was I born? Where did I grow up? or Where do I call home?
American by birth, and raised in the hills of the empire state
On the outskirts of an unrenowned town, with Horseheads on the gate
Fond memories of autumns, filled with crimson leaves and cider
Of football games, cold crisp air and watching wind blown gliders
Then the Air Force came a calling and promised I’d see the world
First to St. Louis’ Arch, then across the Atlantic I was hurled
The land I found was green year round, and not too hot or cold
The cobbled village streets, reminds of a Dickens’ tale; told
was here I met and married an English Rose, unplanned
And thought to raise a family in this green and fertile land
With view of ancient parish and beside a Roman road
We found a place that fit our needs and where we could grow old
That did not work out near as well we had hoped
Several years working abroad and the passion had eloped
The rose that I had married turned more thorn than sweet
On the internet I found the one that’s meant for me
Ten years in and still abroad; but, this time, with love
Spending time together with sunny skies above
Abu Dhabi’s sandy dunes have become our new playground
Spending desert weekends camping with no one else around
The stars become our ceiling, a fire to warm our toes
Listening to the silence of nature’s sweet repose
So this is where we call home and where we say we’re from
At least until the next move, but we’ll take that as it comes…..

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