To come back to, when we roam.
Low walls and fluted tiles,
Wide windows, a view for miles.
Red firelight and deep chairs,
Small white beds upstairs-
Great talk in little nooks,
Dim colors, rows of books.
One picture on each wall,
Not many things at all.
God send us little ground,
Tall trees stand round.
Homely flowers in brown sod,
Overhead, thy stars, O God.
God bless thee, when winds blow,
Our home, and all we know.
Home is where the heart is and Florence Bone expresses it beautifully in this poem. It is so easy to visualize the safe haven, loving family members and warmth resonating in each line. What I miss are the scents of soup, coffee, baked goods and fresh flowers on the table. I also miss the sounds and energy that aren’t meant to be expressed here. My thoughts go toward them, picturing the perfect home that ever is, will be or might have been. Still, it is nice to feel the wind and gaze up at the stars.
Taking it further, this poem makes me believe that home is more expansive than the walls we build to confine ourselves. Home seems to be defined as God’s universe and loving embrace in this poem, complete with little comforts we give ourselves, as human needs require.
What is your vision of a perfect home? How do you describe home in your own writing? Is it important to use all the senses when discussing home, or can we allude to some without mentioning them?
I’m so glad you stopped in for a visit today. Please leave a comment and let me know stopped by,
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