Back Where It’s At

Too many a day I’ve travelled
thinking there was a pot of gold
at the end of the rainbow.
That the farthest fields were
greener than my own,
but the myths I’ve followed
have disappeared like ripples on water
and now I’m heading home.

I’m going back where it’s at,
where the fires warm glow
eases the tired brow.
Back where it’s at,
a loving, loving home,
back where friends are friends
and neighbours help one another.
Back to the bosom of my family,
back where it’s at.

(1 August 1995)

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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