Home, Sweet Heartache.
Years ago, when I was young,
My father whispered closely, “Son,
Don’t let your love be wasted in the ground.”
“But Dad, love is a seed;
I think a tree is all we need.”
He said “You know,
I kind of like the way that sounds.”
Well I met a man not far away
From where my parents used to stay
Who told me that his heart had turned to ash.
And every day he’d take it to her, home,
Name carved out boldly into stone,
And wonder if she’d take him back.
So I told him not to worry for the trees;
“Just leave their troubles for the bees,
Because their problems come and go.”
He said “Don’t plant that seed inside your chest.
Leaving’s what the trees do best.
Just plant it here, and it will grow.”
And so there grew a forest,
On the Earth that lie before us,
Of the trees of love that travellers had sown;
And the ashes of his love,
They flew along the winds above,
And made sure no one ever had to grow alone.
I wish I’d asked his name,
Before we went our separate ways;
But days ago, I came across a stone.
It read:
“Here lies a girl,
Much better fit to see the world.
And next to her,
The man who called her Home.”
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