I am feeling homesick for a land I used to know;

It was the land my mother knew; in her time of youth did grow.

Her journey took her far from there, to move into the city,

But her heart always felt at home where crickets played their ditty.

Often times the city life would cave right in on her,

And she just felt as lost as an abandoned bird.

We would visit there, gathering blackberries from their bush,

And we would always hear the loud, dry leaves from autumn, crush.

It was always hard to see those hills covered in snow,

For backroads were not cleared, save from the sunlight’s glow.

But when the winter broke, and springtime came acallin’

You would find us there, when new life burst forth with bawlin’.

My Mother would linger far in walks along the land,

And climb the hill to decorate the graves of those so grand.

Sometimes I would go with her, and hear her stories well,

Of the land that held her heart and bore her footprints in its dell.

I must go back and visit soon, without my Mother’s lead–

For she has joined those grand ones, but the land remembers me.