A Place Called Home

Afternoon All,
There are days when ones memory flits back to happy times filled with warm memories. This poem is one of those moments, that I now share with you. Back to the seventies and a day in the life of me then.


A Place Called Home

Taking me away from this place of today.
Back to the snow and my seat on the sleigh.
Where crystal white blankets covered all,
In the days long after that summers fall.

When icicles dripped from old wooden gutters,
Frozen chins made you chatter and stutter.
Hand made mittens hung heavy with clump,
As we made tracks with curves and bumps.

Men of snow guarded gardens galore.
Little old ladies smoke salt to the floor.
Trails of black from coal houses traced,
To unlocked doors in the keeping warm race.

Children hopped from one foot to another,
Other kids called for your sisters or brothers.
Wooden sleds snowmen, in ice dens we played.
While our schools shut down for the day.

We cared for those with little more than us,
Checked on their fires  and making a fuss.
To when people cared, is where mind roams.
To a time that I miss - that place I called home.


By Helen Stallard
June 8, 2014