Heartland

by Irene Buckler

My home is not so much a place

Places are for others and not for me

Home is the love on my mother’s face,

A look of love that sets me free

My home is not the sum of stuff

My stuff adds up to nothing much

Home is a bond when times are tough,

My hand in my father’s hand, a touch

My home is not where I sleep at night

I rest in darkness, sleeping anywhere

Home is trust and sharing the light

And staying warm with those who care

My home is a memory, fading fast

Faraway whispers, remind me of when

I lived in a home, a time long past

With friends I will never meet again

My home is in transit; we travel alone

Towards a new life, a new land, a new start

Through spaces and places with faces unknown

My home is within me, deep in my heart.