Home was the green hills far away
She thought constantly to return
And never thought to stay
Long from the maple and the fern.

The brightly shimmering blue day,
The dark, muddy river
Near houses of brown clay
Desert going on forever

Haunted her thoughts by night and day.
Longing for home, she dreamed
Cool rivers, falling spray,
Hidden deer and huge trees misted.

Home was the green hills far away,
She never dreamed here she would stay.

For Monday Poetry Potluck.

Leave a comment


  1. The arid desert does capture us, doesn’t it?

  2. very nicely done.

  3. perfect home to stay…
    well penned.

    have fun!
    Glad to see you in.

  4. but she got herself a nice home so why wouldn’t she stay? haha nice write! my potluck’s here: http://fiveloaf.wordpress.com/2010/06/04/metamorphosis/

  5. Ohhh…I think I would miss the green too much, although I have heard that the desert has its own, special beauty. What a wonderful depiction of the memory of home as compared to the reality. :)

  6. Home is indeed where the heart is… but that heart of ours can be sooo devious at times… no? But that’s how felt too…

    A lovely poem on longing, Liz….
    and details you’ve laid out for us… really beautifully painted!!

  7. signed .............bkm

     /  February 23, 2011

    Truely a beautiful piece of writing the hills and the fern…was expressed so vivid and heartfelt…I sense the longing with this gracious and delicate words….bkm

  8. hope you well….

    your entry is always refreshing, well fine tuned, and beautiful.

  9. come to poets rally if you wish..
    missed you.
    take good care.

  1. The Celebrate Poet of Spring in 2011 Awards Nomination Accouncement | Promising Poets' Parking Lot

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