Home for the Senses

The hum of tires on blacktop cold,

Along correction lines, past fields of gold,

A discarded tractor, growing old -

Purchased once but never sold.

I journey to my childhood home.

One last turn down a prairie road,

Where distant mem’ries so often flowed,

And life was reaped from seeds once sowed,

Drawing me from where I roam.

Into the yard, I drive with haste

So many moments and none to waste.

By the family dog, I will be chased.

Family dinners I can taste,

On this journey to my childhood home.

Open doors and open arms,

With all the gifts of country charm,

Welcomes me to my family farm,

And draws me back from where I roam.

At last I feel the warmth inside.

I feel the comfort. I feel the pride.

With every hug, with every stride,

No need to keep my thoughts inside,

As I step inside my childhood home.

Uncle’s handshakes and mother’s hugs,

Stockinged feet on soft warm rugs,

And kids who offer playful tugs,

To keep me here from where I roam.

At last I rest my weary head,

In a room well-known, on my fav’rite bed.

After loving words have all been said,

And late-night diners finally fed,

As I revel in this family home.

Dreams of youth with family near,

Brothers, sisters, Grandma dear.

There’s nothing like the comfort here,

To fill me up when e’r I roam.