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2017.11.28 Backpack

Home

Home in Germany, my paradise.
In the garden once stood a friend’s plum,
My son’s cherry and my Christmas tree.

Black currants and raspberries, roses, yellow and red
Jasmine, lilac, and forget-me-nots.
Rosemary and Sage and Citronella.

And people I have walked with, hand in hand.
People I take to be close as family.
In days when I was young.

And now I am seventy-one.
They said I should go home, to my family.
For they were only my friends.

Go home?
Go to where my heart is?
Heart dear, are you still in my backpack?

******************
FM:)
♥♥

Mines

Mines

Mines, all scattered around.
Sleeping, like volcanoes.
No one detonating.

No one demining.

Some home.
Thank God,
Not mine.

*******
FM:)
♥♥