I left so long ago that home
is no longer the hill country of my youth,
or the house on Misty Glen.
The flint covered plains hardened
my heart some time ago,
and the North Eastern shores are too cold
to keep it warm.

If I tried to call a place home
I wouldn’t know what to say.
No house or city or state
could call me back to stay.
Home is where the heart is,
but where does mine truly lay?