Carry Your Home

 Illustration by Norma Jean Aahner

A stranger came into a town

Saw an old man rocking slow.


Old man winked, stirred his drink,

Said, “Stranger, what do you know?”


 The stranger wiped his brow and swore,

“This place is hot as hell.


What’s this town like anyway … 

As if I couldn’t tell?”


The old man took a long sip,

Then gave a thoughtful sigh,


Cocked his head, and then he said,

As he looked the fella in the eye,


“Tell me where you came from, stranger.

Tell me what kinda town.”


The stranger growled. “That place was foul,

Full of scoundrels who’d run you down.”


“I’d like to tell you different,” old man said.

“I’d like to ease your mind.


But the place right here, is, I fear

The same as you left behind.”


As the stranger left, he spat on the ground.

Then another man walked into town.


He saw the old man rockin’,

So, beside him he sat down.


He told the old man softly

“No longer do I want to roam.


Tell me what kind of town this is.

Could I call this town my home?”


Old man rubbed his chin and asked,

“Stranger, what’d you left behind?”


“I regretted that I had to go

It was happy; people were kind.”


He saw the old man’s eyes light up

As he stopped his rockin’ to proclaim,


“This little town, up and down

You’ll find to be about the same.


No matter where you wander, Traveler

No matter where you roam … 


Don’t search too far, for in your heart

You always carry your home.


No matter where you wander, Traveler

No matter where you roam,


Don’t have to search too far, ‘cause in your heart,

Is where you carry your home.”