Homesick in this month, October,
for old friends I now most yearn—
Take me back to that warm hearth
where my soul seeks quick return.

Trapped here in this asphalt jungle,
longing for fresh air and field,
farm with bulging barn and silo
storing many crops of yield.



October mist on morning meadow—
calming peace at early day,
recalls to mind the harvest season—
life lived in a different way.



Cowbells clanging on far paths,
heavy chores by morning sun,
weary heads that rest on pillow
when a long day’s work is done.

Soon the weather will be changing,
time to linger, rake the leaves,
cut firewood, mend the fences—
thoughts that force my heart to grieve.

Take me to that place I wandered—
carefree dreamer, just a child,
let those memories be my future,
take me from this city wild.

Tamara Hillman
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