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By me: @witchofkeys

The sound of wind singing through the pine trees,
the smell of honeysuckle, and rain
on tin roofs remind me of my childhood.

I was born in April 
and flowers bloom eternally in my soul.

Old dirt roads and Boone’s Farm wine take me back
to days so far gone. I hear stupid inside jokes
and hear laughter that made my ribs ache.

I can’t put words to the things I feel so deeply
and I suppose I never will be. I am home here
yet my heart sings of mountains and blue mists.

I will never replace the memories or the 
things this place taught me,
but I am yearning to wander and
pulled to roam.

This place has been my home for so long,
but I am starting to realize that Home resides 
within me. Not the places I may lay my head.