Going Home Again

It has always been said, that you can’t go home again

But those people who said that, forgot all about the heart.

When I think of home, it is the valley and the river

Which housed me as a child in Beaver Valley.

The hills enveloped me with wonder

The rocks beckoned to me, to come and explore

The river called its song across the fields

And I would always follow.

Alone, I trudged, just a little girl, along the banks

Up the grassy slopes, way, way up to the rocks

Where caverns and caves whispered of excitement.

I learned to trust myself enough to crawl along the ledges

And sit with legs dangling over the valley.

To drink in the fresh air and feel the kind sun on Old Baldy

Was home for me, and for the golden eagles who soared above my head.

The old farm house perches still, on a knoll with new owners

Familiar and dear, but with a fresh classy look, bright paint

New windows and roof, verandahs adding opulence

It blurs in my mind, and I am again the little girl on the lawn

With dolls and bears and cats, each one named, each one happy at home.

At night when the stars twinkle, I know it is the same sky

That looms over my real home in the valley

I am kin with the moonbeams and I sparkle with the dew.

My heart rests in the Beaver Valley, and it knows that I will always be able

To go home again. 

cailin raine