I dreamed I was walking in
heaven
On streets paved with
untarnished gold.
The mansions we passed were
imposing and grand;
Almost too recherché to
behold.
A Tudor home’s herringbone
brickwork,
High chimneys and dormers
galore,
Its tall mullioned windows
and steeply pitched roofs
Spoke clearly of gracious
décor.
Beyond that, a great
“Antebellum”
Surrounded by white picket
fence,
Had pillars, hipped roof and
elaborate frieze,
But strangely devoid of
pretense.
I turned to the guide who
was with me,
“You said I could choose
what I please?
Of those that I’ve looked
at, I doubt if I’d feel
At home, sir, in any of
these.
“I wonder if there is a
hillside
Away from the elegance here;
A house I had hoped could be
mine for all time:
My ‘home place’ I’d always
held dear.
“It sat on a beautiful
hillside
With views of the meadows
below.
The house was unpainted and
needed repair
But that was a long time
ago.
“Inside was a warm, friendly
kitchen
Where cookies were baked
with great love.
An oil cloth covered the oak
table top
And a fly paper hung from
above.
“We slept under quilts in
the bedrooms
And listened to katydids’
song.
There’s nowhere on earth as
endearing as this
For this is the place I
belong.
“I don’t need a mansion up
here, sir.
I know all my family’d
agree.
If I could just have my
small house on a hill,
Now that would be heaven to
me.”
by Mariane Holbrook
http://www.marianholbrook.com
Mariane Holbrook is a
retired teacher, an author
of two books, a musician and
artist. She maintains
a personal website at
http://www.marianholbrook.com
and welcomes your Emails at
Mariane777@bellsouth.net.
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