The green green grass of home.
That's where I want to be.
Where I can freely roam.
And be the real me.
I'm in a far off land.
That's miles and miles away.
Here there's no friendly hand.
And only hard work and no play.
At night my green eyes cry.
As I sadly in bed lie.
To this place I want to say bye.
From this place I want to fly.
The green green grass of home.
Where happiness does freely roam.
Is the place I want to be.
The place where I feel free.
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Author:
Wallace (
Offline) - Published: September 22nd, 2017 00:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments5
A true account of a longing for home. Beautiful write.
Mugsdaddy
Thanks for comment mugsdaddy.
Good write, the power of home is always there no matter where you are in your world.
Thanks for comment Goldfinch60.
Great description of that longing for home. In the words of Dorothy, "There's no place like home."
Thank you lasergraph.
When i was a boy my parents moved me around the country, new school, new friends, new enemies every fifteen months or so (don't ask me why i was just a kid) and the net result is i never had a place so familiar i could call home. I envy patriotic people who have ties to one area or another, those who long for the green grass or the magestic hills or the grimy faces of coal miners seen every day from t'pit. Nomad me (No sane either mind you)
Where ever I lay my hat.
A gypsy life.
Hope you're grounded now.
Thanks for comment dusk arising.
Embrace the journey. We'll all get back home. Enjoyed your poem, Wallace!
Thank you Louis.
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