On going back.

This is a follow-up entry to yesterday's "Looking back." How often in our lives do we fully and intractably romanticize a former place in our life to the extent that we cannot help but crave to return to that sanctuary? When we've spent years polishing a memory so that it shines brilliantly and without adulteration, how can we do anything but dream about running back? Can we ever go back?
Easily the questions beg some .....

REMINISCING

As I close my eyes
and summon images of home,
I always see bits and pieces
of long ago -- never to return.

At the back of our old house
is the shallow running river -
its murmuring ripples, the sweet melody
of a lullaby sang by Mother.

Out front are bougainvilleas and roses -
a cornucopia of red, of white, and green;
Beyond are the lettuce, the squash,
and the creeping tendrils of the beans.

Farther east, at the edge of the cornfield -
the stately oak tree stands,
two outstretched branches beneath its canopy
resembling Father's sturdy arms.

Between the newly-plowed furrows
young corn sprouts are seen;
Each one eager to see the world,
to greet the sunshine, to kiss the rain.

Through warm and tender-loving care
slowly, ears of corn spring;
Warming weary but contented hearts
for the happiness they bring.

Ah! But the corn stalks are young no more.
The kernels have long left the cobs;
The oak now lords over a grass-covered field
cooed by the river's whispers and sobs.