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Always “Home” to us…

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Memories come crowding back

As I turn onto the road

Where many, many years ago

That old house was our home.

It was long ago remodeled

Yet somehow I still see

The same four rooms of weathered board

That were home to you and me.

See where our bikes wore out the grass

And made a path across the lawn;

Alas our days of riding bikes

Are now forever gone.

Look there’s the rough-poured concrete walk

That leads to the cracked step.

When we were gone for very long

On returning our hearts leapt.

Inside the long thin panes of glass

I see the fresh white net

That mother soaked in heavy starch

Then stretched on frames to set.

I know if I go in the door

The couch so tired and worn

Will be where it has always been

Since before we both were born.

Oh sister, can you smell the yeast

Of mother’s baking day

When she made that good white bread

In her own special way?

But now I’m blocking traffic

And it’s time to drive away

But I remember so much more

That I haven’t time to say

But I know that you remember too

And cherish as I do.

The place that we will both call “home”

Until all our years are through.

 B. Killebrew





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