Books by the old Leather Chair

  • Snow In The Summer
  • My Bible
  • The Power of Silence
  • What Comes Next and to Like It
  • Encore Provence
  • A Year in Provence

Friday, December 5, 2008


I continue going through paperwork and found this poem. I remember cutting it out years ago when I lived at the old farm house. It makes me smile this cold wintry morning. I guess I could change the wording to "Homes". That seems to be One Woman's Journey. Homes she created and they have all been special.

There's a home
whose rooms
I know by heart.
Where I tend the garden
and read my books.
Where dreams are dreamt
and memories made.
Where children grew up
and grandchildren visted
and I grew old.
There's a home
where life is lived
A home where I belong
Author unknown

Some thoughts from this One Woman on her Journey Through This Life


Judy said...

Lovely poem. Sounds like you could have written it. Have a good weekend.

Tabor said...

A home only becomes a home after we begin to fill it with memories.

One Woman's Journey said...

Thank you Judy. Tabor I guess all my homes are homes because there is nothing new inside. All the old thing that I have had for years. Things passed down from mother and grandmother. So once I fill any home with these items it is like I am home.

Gail said...

A lovely poem ...I hope you are well! gail

Grammie said...

I loved the poem...Enjoy the rest of our weekend!


One Woman's Journey said...

Gail and Grammie, thanks for checking in. Take Care