two hundred years

 

two hundred years tilling this soil

my stiff knees

the last to bend

 

two hundred years of buried treasure

raised to the light

 

two hundred years in this garden

as night falls

again

 

 

 

i was in the dreaming

 

 

i was in the dreaming

held

in

a scream

as the hammer

beat

my aching neck

time and time again

 

i was old

i was young

i was in this dreaming

 

i was on the road

once more

stuck 

in a highway jam

and

thinking 

of home

where is my home?

 

i was nowhere

split

and stoned

sinking

 

 

 

i was a stranger

staring

 

i was

hung

dreaming

 

 

house of love

 

 

 

and nothing happened ... again

 

 

coming home

draw the curtains ...

they're all packed up now

tears and laughter

joys and grief

a house bustling with children

street parties and barbecues

boys nights out

and filling potholes

side by side 

with the neighbours

they're all packed up now

the dogs we walked

from Blue to Roscoe

the squeaking guinea-pig

bonsai herd

birthdays

and Christmas 

and parties

filling our home

bringing together

family and

friends

our church life

and house-groups and youth groups

and times for reflection

 they're all packed up now 

the quilts and the cameras

the magical automata

the flotsam and jetsam

of a family

the trees and the flowers

a garden tended in love

 

 they're all packed up now

the smell of baking bread

warming stews

and day-long curry cooking

the meals that bound us together

the arrivals

the departures

the passing faces 

they're all packed up now

a home

full of memories