“Home” A touch of paint, Some pretty flowers… Such warmth! A place called home! Amira “Hogar” Un toque de pintura Algunas flores bonitas… ¡Tal calidez! ¡Un lugar llamado hogar! Amira
The little path that leads to home,
That is the road for me,
I know no finer path to roam, With finer sights to see.
GLAD to be back home again,
Where abide the friendly men;
Glad to see the same old scenes
And the little house that means
All the joys the soul has treasured—
But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,
That living’s made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ‘preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
This is the place that I love the best, A little brown house, like a ground-bird’s nest,
How brightly glistening in the sun. The woodland ivy plays!
I asked of a Poet I met on the way, Which cross-road would lead me aright.
And he said: “Follow me, and not long you shall see Its glittering turrets of light.”
NOW when the spirit in us wakes and broods,
Filled with home yearnings, drowsily it flings
From its deep heart high dreams and mystic moods,
Just Home and Love! the words are small
Four little letters unto each;
And yet you will not find in all . The wide and gracious range of speech
Two more so tenderly complete:
Home, where the kettle shall gaily sing,
Is all that matters with serf or king;
Gold and silver and laurelled fame
Are only sweet when the hearth’s aflame