Ode To My Birth Place

I have heard it said that home is where your story begins. Within her four walls of white concrete blocks, my story began. In a little delta town off US highway 49 in Northern Mississippi, where the men were strong; women were nice, and kids were polite. For 17 years, she kept me warm and was the only abode I ever knew. That's when I moved away, but returned to live in the mid 70's. Even then, I don't remember visiting her; but I lived nearby. So I can assume that I must have seen her then at least once. After that, I moved again and stayed away for some 30 years. When I was young, my thoughts of her were rare and vague. I longed to move up to more suitable housing, feeling that I deserved better. I didn't know then what I know now. I'm really sorry; she deserved better. As I grew older, I desired greatly to see her. I wanted to walk through her rooms and across her solid floors. I wanted to do hand stands like when I was little and lean against her strong walls. But before I came her way again, I was informed by my cousin of her sad demise and unwise demolition. She, like so many people and things from my youth, is long gone; and it's really sad that we never even bothered to say goodbye. 03282017 PS Contest; Where Are You From, Joseph Soper