A Home

There’s a home whose rooms I know by heart,
Because I constructed each and every part.

Where I tended the garden and read my books,
How I long for the days of precious looks.

Where my children grew up and I hoped to grow old,
Little did I know what someday I’d be told.

I just couldn’t believe,
When I was told to leave.

There’s a home where I once lived with my wife,
Oh how I again long to live such a life.

I can hardly wait,
To pass through the gate.

To no longer remain in the cold,
Rather to again walk over the threshold.

A home is where I belong,
Perhaps it shall not be too long.

Terry Ploeckelmann 1982

Footnote

After a two year long agonizing wait, we never reconciled