There are many places I have lived,
and you would think that I would give up yearning,
but all the places I have been, and
all the wonders I have seen don’t work for me.

What I search for won’t be found,
no thing will turn my world around, I’m certain.
I sometimes wander in the black,
and wish for home as I pull back the curtains.

But there’s no home for me,
no anchor in my life,
no beacon out there guiding me,
only scattered memories;
no, there’s no home for me.

There’s not a thing out there for me
that I can’t find inside, but I feel so alone.
When I left my family,
who would have dreamed that I was searching for a home.

But there’s no home for me,
only my family,
who are scattered to the far four winds,
and I drown here in all I miss;
no, there’s no home for me.

No there’s no home for me,
though I have my new friends.
I hear them as they reminisce
’bout all those things they did as kids,
and I’m lonely for the things I’ve missed,
but there’s no home for me.

© L. Rose