Going Home!

Going Home!
By L. Don Oliver

The mansion stood upon a hill,
beside a spreading oak tree;
A place never to visit,
a place to never see,

The cool spring where she waded,
at the bottom of the hill;
A drinking gourd upon a nail,
for the thirsty toilers to fill;

Watermelons placed in the stream,
where the cool, cool waters play;
A reward for the tired workers,
at the end of the torrid day;

She can see her Father chopping wood,
to burn in their iron cooking stove;
She remembers the fruit that was picked,
from a nearby neighbor's grove;

She can hear her Mother calling,
children come home it's supper time;
Wash your hands before you come in,
of all that dirt and grime;

Her beautiful hazel eyes sparkle,
then they are clouded by her tears;
Oh, to become a child once more,
and remember not the vacant years;

She's just a little girl lost,
in the shadows of the moon;
Who's Prince never came along,
to sing his magic tune;

Gazing distantly through a window,
reminiscing of a far away plain,
Searching the landscape of her memory,
she longs to go back home again;