Green hills stretch out and a breeze blows in
as I step into the familiar,
so close to my heart,
so much my home.
The path by the house is my well-trodden way,
that leads to the brown back door,
so usually open,
so much my home.
The welcome that meets me whenever I go,
reaches me deep in my soul,
so rich is its warmth,
so much my home.
Though the years have passed slowly by
and I now live far away,
there's history at work
around my dear home.
Now the memory pictures play
on the vivid screen of my brain,
though others now live there
in my dear home.
Memories of family and fervent faith,
of a father on his knees
in prayer each night,
so dear my home.
Pictures of laughter and gentle love,
of a mother who did so much
to bring me to faith,
so dear my home.
The lessons I learnt of sharing and love,
of grace and an open door,
have stood me well
in my new dear home.
Knowing the value of warmth and faith,
of well-worn tables and chairs,
has guided the welcome
in my new dear home.
Green lawns stretch out and a gentle breeze,
wafts round this shelter of love,
not just a house,
so much my new dear home.
Postbox Poetry 
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