The mountains are calling me back,
determined not to give me slack.
Windy road leads me to the place
which is emotional to face.
Summers spent at the old homestead,
Nanna would bake her tasty bread.
Red and white gingham curtains hung
on paned windows where they were strung.
The old picnic table stood in the back,
meals were served with love and no slack.
A tire hung on the oak tree,
hours were spent swinging with glee.
Bitter-sweet thoughts hit so rough,
family gone and it is tough.