Home
A Poem, not meant to be profoundly written.
Home
Our curtains are torn and yellow
our towels are old and don’t match
our furniture was unwanted and given away
Our house is old and dusty
We share residence with some old mice
The ceiling is stained from years of rain and storm
The floorboards creek and rot away
My clothes are old and torn, my socks have a few holes
But my daddy bought me a brand new scarf for christmas
And I thank the great spirit, that this is homeWhen I was little, we’d ride bikes for miles
When I was little, we’d sleigh ride in the cow pastures
When I was little, we’d build forts in the trees and haystacks
When I was little, I was always dirty
When I was little, we’d steal strawberries out of the garden
When I was little, I was a lot stronger
When I was little, I was happy
And I thank the great spirit, that this was my homeSometimes my father sings from an old worn hymnal
His broken but carefully tended glasses on the end of his nose
He eats breakfast every Sunday with the old farmers
He tells me of the old days, and the old farm
He taught me how to hunt, how to farm, how to drive the old john deere
He loves to take care of our animals, even when we can’t afford to
He loves to sell eggs to the neighbors, and give away free vegetables
He loves to sit on that old wooden swing hanging from the oak out front
And I thank the great spirit, that this is homeI grew up learning lessons by many men in my life
Ben Cartwright and his boys taught me the value of family
Matt Dillon and Dodge City taught me the value of life and justice
Andy Griffith and Mayberry taught me to enjoy the simplicities of life
Waltons Mountain made me appreciate all of my own little treasures
And that little house on the prairie taught me to survive with love
But most importantly, my daddy taught me right
And I thank the great spirit, that this is home
Entry viewed times. Posted in Fond Memories
One Response to “Home”
June 12th, 2007 at 12:52 pm
[…] on -actual- fathers day, I gave my dad the poem I wrote for him during the holidays. Again he cried. It felt nice. I love my father. Related Posts: In the […]