Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Hills of Home

I wrote this poem in 2005 when I first felt the call to move back to my Kentucky roots. I have pulled it out once more to share in the hope that within the next year I will be back in the region where my ancestors lived and are buried and where I feel truly "at home and at peace."

In the summers of her youthful past,
She walked barefoot through the long bladed grass
That grew along the honey suckled hills of
Her Old Kentucky Home.

And the perfumed air that filled her lungs
Brought a spark of life into her infant soul
Nourished by the wild berries she watched ripen and grow
Into cobblers and homemade ice cream
For summers’ eves with lightening bugs aglow.

But the robin in spring and red bird in winter,
Chirped a call heard deep within her,
To trade her Sunday shoes that walked the straight and narrow path
For sparkling, glass slippers that yearned to roam
In search of love and adventure far from her Old Kentucky Home.

And romance blossomed among the garden paths of Versailles
And the Left Bank of Paris.
But the slippers faded into shimmering moonlight on the Seine,
So she found garden clogs to work the terrain
To build love and contentment with a home of her own
Amid the honey suckled vines of her Old Kentucky Home.

But the robin in spring and red bird in winter
Chirped a call heard deep within her,
To follow her love to Eldorado and the Seven Cities of Gold
Promised in stories and myths of old.

When that love withered and died in the desert heat,
She donned hiking boots to retreat
With her new love to the lush, green woodlands aside ocean dunes
 Amid quiet streams filled with salmon and the call of the loon.

Left alone in Eden by death’s early knell,
She felt her paradise turning to hell.
But she found solace for her soul biking the salty sea shore
And donned dancing shoes for music and loved once more.

But the strong winds in summer and heavy rains in winter,
Drowned love once more and sent her
Back to the rooted vines that climbed high on the hills
Of her Old Kentucky Home.

Now, in the autumn of her years she roams barefoot once more,
To the song of the robin in spring and red bird in winter
That chirp the secret of unconditional love rooted deep within her
And spreading wide across the hills of her Old Kentucky Home.