~ poem “This Place I Call Home” by Michael Traveler, author/poet
the morning brushes over me like a mist, touches my face like a sweet kiss
sings to my soul a song as old as time
these mountains are a part of me they live in this heart of mine
tell a tale of long ago when the world was young
And had just begun
the rivers were wild and free to run
the skies were clear and the wildflowers shimmered
in the light of the sun
Yes, life had just begun
my ancestors camped in these meadows where the wildflowers flourished and butterflies flitted from flower to flower
And deer knelt by the cool mountain stream for a sip of water in the shade of the trees
it’s here that my tribe raised children, made memories and handed traditions down father to son, mother to daughter.
down through the ages through the winds of time in these hills of mine
magical beautiful peaceful and divine.in this place this place that no matter how far I roam I always call home .