"You can never go home" I've heard it said.
"It's gone, it's past, it's done, it's dead."
But isn't home there, where you can find
memories emblazoned in your heart and your mind?
The smell of a pile of dead fallen leaves
at the curb, burning on a crisp autumn eve.
Or waking to see the ground full of snow,
grabbing your boots, anxious to go
out in the cold to have winter fun
making snow angels, catching flakes on your tongue.
And waiting to see the first robin red breast,
it's Spring and the trees awake from their rest.
Up from the ground the Earth brings her offering
of new green grass shoots, trees blossom, birds sing.
Fishing with Grandpa, days at the lake
Summers of swimming, sand castles we'd make.
The smell of the grass after it's mown,
I don't care WHAT they say, I can ALWAYS go home!

~