Going ‘home’

My Mum came from a property
From up ‘round Queensland way.
It was actually in New South Wales -
My favourite place to stay.

She called it ‘home’ and somehow it
Was also ‘home’ for me.
I loved the holidays I spent –
We drove up from Sydney.

The trip was long, the roads weren’t good,
Travelled through day and night,
With burning sun that baked us dry,
Then blinded by headlights.

But as the miles would melt away
And we would get real close,
I’d start to get a tingle that
Went right down to my toes.

Anticipation was so high,
I’d squiggle and I’d squirm,
And stretch to see a glimpse of ‘home’
When we made that final turn.

We’d see the trees that ‘broke’ the wind
And stood so straight and tall,
Where underneath the needles lie -
Make a carpet where they fall.


Then next we’d see a silhouette
Of a homestead on the rise
With tin roof shine and chimney smoke
That signified lit fires.

The last half mile just seemed so long
As we trundled down the drive,
The dust a plume behind the car
Announcing we’d arrived.

The frenzy of the barking dogs
Alerted those inside,
That we were finally nearly there –
Exhausted, bleary-eyed.

Our tiredness would fall away
The happiness we’d known
Would flood right back ‘cause we’d arrived.
Yes, we were once more ‘home’.








Penny O’Shea
25 November 2018