An Old Home

January 28, 2011
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I sketched a home and painted it white
The wind took over and set it aflight
To paint ‘cross the sky and mix into blues
It soon was lost in a variety of hues.
I strode in the grass and pondered why
The wind wouldn’t teach me how to fly
To float among tree tops and paint a new home
And with my signature, I’d make it my own
I travelled passed places, in my childhood, I’d found
To realize my home was here, on the ground.

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