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Our Home
Our home was warm in the shade of the trees or when the sun was not upon it. It was built on the side of a hill, near a lake where spirits could be free. On the warm porch ? hummingbirds watched, from branches where they sit, and the cat and the dog lay sunning, as we read ? nestled very closely. It was made of dark wood and of brick, had green shutters and was designed by our father: as a place to come to rest after a day, a week, or as a refuge throughout the years. It was a place ? tranquil and safe, warm and friendly ? quite unlike any other. It was a place for exploring ? the woods, the lake, and yes ? our inner fears. We welcomed friends unto this place. We called out: come one ? come all, and many hours were spent talking, playing cards, or simply sitting by the fire. We conversed many times, learning of each other, telling our tales, which then seamed tall. From life's struggles, which then seamed unreal, we learned to fight ? and to never tire. It is there we learned to dream our dreams, and that with work, anything could be done. We tried out many things, as we grew ? trying desperately, to discover who we should be. It is there we learned to love, to win a heart ? and how our heart could be won, and slowly there emerged, a person strongly formed, from deep inside ? which was free. And if we closely listen now ? even though we are many miles, and many years away ? We can see ourselves sitting by the fire, with family, with friends ? or late at night ? all alone. We can see this place we can hear the voices, and listen to their conversations as they say: "Feel the sun, and the soft wind blow. Hear the trees ? as they whisper soft secrets of -- Our Home." Tom Knutson MN:: 1995 top 3% nationwide poetry contest
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