The Homeplace Called Her Name
Photography & Poem by Norma Beaird
The rusty '49 Ford,
was parked near pecan trees,
next to the old log cabin,
in the haunting Georgia breeze.
Reminders there were instant,
of the hopes for her tomorrows,
but time had left some questions,
and some memories drenched in sorrows.
She was visiting from the city,
where her future held the key,
of the bright lights, fame and money,
and a life of being free.
Free from the roosters crowing,
and the sounds of cattle near,
and the sunset over corn fields,
where she held her greatest fear.
That she'd stay in Treutlen County,
near the barns of yesterday,
without seeing lights and cities,
She must leave and run away.
Now she has the city dwelling,
and the condo in the sky,
but her heart is cold and lonely,
in the misty New York nights.
Yes she has the job and money,
the designer clothes and shoes,
the so-called friends and parties,
but she has big city blues.
So she's staring at the old Ford,
thinking how she'd love to be,
in the quiet country farmhouse,
watching falling autumn leaves.
Eating pies from mama's oven,
fishing with her daddy's lures,
jumping on her brother's hay bales,
life was simple, true and pure.
So she'll leave those dreams behind her,
with the noise of city life,
she is coming back to Georgia,
underneath the starry skies.
She longs for church on Sundays,
and the hymns from country choirs,
To hear the King James Bible,
that will soothe a soul that's tired.
For life is full of promise
but life is full of change
and desires can be unsettling,
when the homeplace calls your name.
Copyright 2013, Norma Beaird. All rights reserved.
