A wooden farmhouse chills in a cold, dark wind
A worn fortress
On a small hill of dead grass frozen in the wind
From a distance, the lonely, lifeless sentinel

Along the back property, an icy brook full of toppled childhood dams
Slippery rocks crafted into stick boat ports now full of timeworn moss
Like leaves and twigs buy youthful dreams float down the river of my life

On the porch, green floorboards
Creak a hearty welcome
The stage of times past where giggling children played and danced
The music of my childhood memories warms this farm house

Yellow floor tiles and chipped tabletops yearning for wholesome care
A puppet of spirit, a woman the puppeteer
Her essence in the kitchen like pollen in the air
Her very presence nourishes my soul like the warm sunlight after a gentle spring rain
I belong here