Sometimes we roam from home and bemoan the tone of our own histories
but why try to ply youth's lies? Instead let's fly in the face of life's mysteries;
A tree only grows tall if it embraces its roots.
My tree sprouted in a land to live forever
with heaven's rivers and weather, sage and heather
and baby's breath rising in content, aromatic sighs.
And my tree budded first leaves by the eaves, I believe,
of a temple to togetherness
an ancient collection of garden's and red shingles
green patios and the mingled clamour
of community coalescing 'round kinship and kindness
There was a shell, I'm told, before the beginning
hints of rogue, outlaw ghosts, murmuring
perhaps haunted by ragged-souled cowboys, forlorn
but everything I ever saw there brimmed with life
and to more elevated spirits was sworn
It was a home built by a rock of two resilient sediments,
on a rock of three resplendent sentiments
It was a home whose halls howled with happy hope and hilarity
and roared with the raucous rumble of reigned in rebelliousness
It was a home that never stopped sprouting new bedrooms
It was a home where every plank and fiber was built to wreathe and interweave
with the scintillating chapel nestled at its heart
and not one who passed by its beckoning facade could deny it glowed with inner light
and everywhere I've ever been, and ever called home, has been but a satellite
