The Place I Call Home...

Where the black top ends
And you find country green
A little house sets back upon a small hill
Peace and love grows there

A campfire lights the yard
And the silence of the night sings beauty
Sun setting rays are found
Amongst baby blue falling dark

Tree frogs baritone a belt
The locust hum
And fireflies illuminate the field
Stars they shine like diamonds and the moon serenades a dream

Peace is fresh every night
And heaven feels so close at hand
Blossoms sweet producing fruit
Giving to friends and family my pride of labor

Southern sweet tea and homemade breads
Fresh veggies and good conversation
Happens every week
At this place I call my home

by Patricia Gale

Comments (4)

Makes you just want to put your feet up and rest a while, home sweet home Patricia... You have frogs in trees strange place..: -) A perfect ten southern lady...
Very beautiful soothing poem... just makes me smile. Zen
What a pleasingly lovely poem! Chock full of good positive emotions about the soft place we have to land, our home. It's a shame not everyone has a 'home', we are fortunate, the ones that do. I'm a Southerner as well, so I know what you mean about fresh fruits, sweet tea and good conversation. A Southerner's good conversation certainly goes better with some freshly made pound cake, doesn't it? :) Great poem! Fondly, Ashley xo
This is absolutly WONDERFUL! ! Bravo!