Home is a place you won’t see again
Home’s what you lost when you boarded the boat
Home is the songs you sing to keep sane
Home is the seeds in the hem of your coat
Home is the warm soft bread that you bake
Home is the old-country clothes that you make
Home is the musical language you speak
Home is the garden where you plant the seeds
Home is the tree that grows from your seeds
Home is the shelter and shade of the tree
Home is the love in your children’s eyes
Home is the future here to which they aspire.
Home for Refugee Week
(cross-posted on Over Forty Shades)
Brilliant poem. This is something i think about a lot - thanks for posting it
ReplyDeleteA very beautiful and poignant poem, so glad I popped by!
ReplyDeleteThanks for visitng my blog and leaving me such a lovely comment, it was nice to hear from you
Carolyn - LOVE STITCHING RED
Juliet, I love this poem. It spoke just the right note to me at just the right moment. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteVery nice! Makes you look at your home in a totally new light!
ReplyDeleteHome is where the heart seeds itself, isn't it? It's not necessarily a place we were once familiar with. My home is with my husband and daughter. Beautiful poem. Hope all is well.
ReplyDeleteVery poignant, CGP. The 4th line has immediately embedded itself deep in my psyche - as special poetry has a way of doing.
ReplyDeleteLovely compassionate poem, and positive too.
ReplyDeleteYes… home is what you make it.
ReplyDeleteI found your blog through Annette's and, as you don't have the followers widgit, I subscribed through Google. There's much in 'Home' that's too true. My dad left Scotland when he was a young man and though he's been back he's certainly never returned home. We wanted to take him back to Dumfriesshire for his 80th birthday this year but he says there's no point, it's not the place he knew. It's the place he lost, as you say, when he boarded the boat.Edinburgh is my favourite city and would be my home if I had my druthers, even though I'm not from there. It's the place that speaks to my heart. Maybe I should aspire to a future here, where I've planted seeds and trees, but I don't. The songs that keep me sane are not from here and though the language is the same the music of it is not. Your pictures were very familiar. I've walked along the Union Canal but the swans reminded me of the Leith at Comely bank, near where I rented a place a couple of years ago. A lovely poem and a lovely blog.
ReplyDelete"home is the seeds in the hem of your coat..." What an awesome line! Love the whole thing but that line is just so darn...perfect.
ReplyDeleteI love that line too - the whole poem as well, of course. Lovely.
ReplyDeletereminds me of the pioneers across the prairies of America in the 1800's ... taking seeds and a few items to start a new home from their old ....
ReplyDeleteGOOD poem, Juliet. My favorite line: 'home is the seeds in the hem of your coat'. That speaks to me of how utterly grounded our lives are, in the beginning and the end, in the earth.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! I love what the poem says. It is so true.
ReplyDeleteOh, Juliet- how I've missed reading you. This is so lovely and really speaks to me today as we are getting ready to leave one home for another... it's scary and exciting but no matter where we are, it's always home to us.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant, my friend...
:)
Poignant poem. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful, touching poem! Thanks for visiting my blog.
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