Missing Years
Missing Years
These dusty roads of this old town,
Bring me back, as I travel town.
To a little place that I called home,
The only place that I’d ever known.
But I grew up and moved away,
There was little here to make me stay.
I traveled east, I traveled west,
I traveled north, but found no rest.
These missing years tend to fly,
One by one they went passing by.
Though my life seem to have flown,
I never claimed a place a home.
Like a wondering man in the dessert sand,
I thirsted for something out of reach of hand.
Then one day I rose to find,
A postcard from an old friend of mine.
The words were like knives of steel,
Ripping though my stubborn will.
“There is no greater place on earth”,
“Then the place of your birth”.
I read it once, I read it twice,
I took to heart his sound advice.
I packed my bags and headed home,
To hopefully never again to roam.
Copyright © Jeff Morehead | Year Posted 2011
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