Home

I think it’s true this saying in my father’s homeland:

“To be born Welsh is to be born privileged, not with a silver spoon in your mouth but with a song in your heart and poetry in your soul.”

It’s how I feel anyway. Never wanted wanted to be rich, always want to sing, and poetry sometimes spills out of my most inner needs. 

Not that it’s good poetry but here’s one I thought up last night. 

Home

Where will I search, how will find
a cure for the ache in my bones for my home?

 Touches of rain, winter’s frost, summer’s sun pull me on when my hope is gone.

Where will I step, how will I know
the path that leads to my nameless home?

 Glimpses of starlight, moonlight, daylight pull me through the darkest nights.

Where will I turn, how will I start
to fill to brimming my empty heart?

 Sents of sage, wolf willow, wild rose beckon me follow my lonely nose.

Where will I rest, how will I rise
when I am so tired, so far from my home? 

Whispers in the wind cheer me on,
hold me up when my strength is gone.

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5 responses to “Home

  1. you write with so much feeling and from deep within your heart and soul, I think about your visit here often and wish you stability and peace .your writing is sad and uplifting . love from a Welsh Hillside

  2. My heart is restless Lord, until it rests in You. ….. St. Augustine
    The longing of a soul is the great inspiration of poets throughout the centuries. You wrote a beautiful one.

  3. It’s my understanding that because poetry is so personal, it is hard to be objective.
    I think you did a wonderful job with it.

    God bless.

  4. You rock!

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