A Poem for you... :)

Here's a poem I wrote today. :) The first two lines popped into my head directly after I was rudely awakened by a sunbeam in the car on the way home from a fabulous morning and afternoon of Black Friday shopping. :) (And on that note, who in tarnation needs to be making trouble to have fun? My older brother, my cousin, Sarah, and I, had a  blast together...the most outlandish thing we did was sing "On the Street Where You Live" at the top of our lungs in the Town Center of Virginia Beach...but that's another story. :P Anyway, enjoy the poem!

 

"Carmen Ante Domum"

(Song Before Home)

 By Rachel Heffington

Home is just over the next green hill

And my journey's last mile before me still--

Home before, and the road behind,

And a balancing moment within my mind...

Home, 'tis so pleasant to know the place

Remembers me still with its homely face.

Home, with her orchards and fields and her lane

Beckoning me with her smiles again.

But the Road, gypsy-mile'd and wild and free,

With echoes and wind-voices calls out to me:

"Remember the paths we have tread, you and I;

The lure of unknown and a clear, open sky!"

Pausing, I stand with the Road at my back,

And stretching before me the dear, homeward track.

A kiss to the journey, a laugh to the wind,

And onward, my heart full of wistfulness send.

"It Takes a Heap O' Livin'"

Here is a poem that has grown close to my heart through the years...it was especially relevant to me during our 2-year sojourn at a house situated in what we called "The Red Zone". We had our fair share, during those years, of witnessing drive-by shootings, drug deals, and other sad activities. Yet the Lord blessed our time there and we were able to be a city on a hill that could not be hidden.

"It Takes a Heap O' Livin'"

Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t'make it home,

A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye somtimes have t'roam

Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,

An' hunger for 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.

It don't make any difference how rich ye get t'be,

How much yer chairs an' tables coast, how great yer luxury;

It ain' a hom t'ye, thought it be the palace of a king,

Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute'

Afore it's home there's got t'be a heap o' livin' in it;

Within the walls there's got t'be some babies born, and then

Right there ye've got t'bring 'em up t'women good, and' men;

And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part

With anything they ever used--they've grown into yer heart:

The old high-chairs, the play things, too, the little shoes they wore

Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door.

Ye'eve got t'weep t'make it home, ye'eve got t'sit an' sigh

An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;

An' in the stillness o' the night t'see Death's angel come

An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb.

For these are scenes that grip the heart, an' when yer tears are dried,

An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories

O' her that was an' is no more--ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got to sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t'romp an' play,

An' learn t'love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;

Even the roses round the porch must blossom year by year

Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear

Who used t'love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em just t'run

The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun;

Ye've got to love each brck an' stone from cellar up t'dome;

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t'make it home."