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Where the Heart Is

If home is where the heart is
And there one wants to be;
Remembering, he in part is
Midst broken dreams' debris.
Of times and things he did well
When she was in the stands,
Getting up his nerve to tell
Her, marriage in his plans.
Of baby beds and diapers
Of children on the wing
That fly behind pied-pipers,
Too soon, to do their thing.
Empty nest, mid-life crisis,
Foundations wasted lay...
Alone, his advice is,
Home's a sad scene to play.

--H. Arlequin   




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copyright 1999, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved