Old house....

An old house; solidly built with each stone telling the story of a rocky valley.
Surrounded by warmth from the inhabiting smiles on the faces of the inhabitants.

This warmth is radiant and radiates round, turning the house into a home.
Laughter and echoes of love pierce through the chimney... sharply and slowly. 

The garden boasts of colourful roses and daisies that call to the lilies in the murky waters across the pond on the Lee-side.
The trees whisper to the path that has become all too familiar and welcoming :

                                              You Are Home!!

                                     I want to know were my home is,
                                    Were I fear not, and have no fears - 
                                Were I look through the vista into my life and see it bright
                      Were the rays of the sun touch my skin and remind me all is fine...
   Were the sun stands firmly overseeing the vast landscapes of a future invested in hard work,
                                          Fruits to be reaped...
                                         Hard work to be sowed...

                        I want to call this old house, this warm place my home 
                                         But I can't...I'm too far away
                                   Freedom turned into a responsibility
                                          Now I can't hardly see
                                      Beyond these wooden fences...
                                 I was taught well and counted all my blessings 
                        It's reach is just but a dream, drifting yonder and yonder.

By Ernest Mackina (Zimbabwe)
First published ; http://mackinaernest54.blogspot.com/2012/08/old-house.html?spref=fb