Memories of going home for Christmas in the Tropics.
Home is the humid air settling on my skin,
The smell of salt and mangroves still to breathe
A sense of calm inhale and hold within
The sight of vines around the trees do wreath.
A winding road leads high above the cloud,
Familiar sights and scenes to show the way
Memories fill up the air and emotions crowd,
To my companions so much now to say.
And then I am on the wide wooden deck,
My eyes sail through seas of green canopy,
The cries of birds delight shivers down my neck,
Immerse myself in wonders all to see.
But soon I must depart to work again,
A visit to childhood’s heart somewhat in vain.
By Jane Frost
Thanks for reading. Please ❤ my poem if you enjoyed it
About the author
Jane lives in Australia. She's trying to create a comfortable home for the birds, the bees and the rest of her family. Contributions to Vocal indulge Jane's lifelong passion for writing, waxing lyrical about things that matter in her world.