This Is The Place

Out past my house is a deep, secret place,
Under the whispering evergreen trees.
I sit there for hours. The peace overwhelms me.
I listen to secrets they share with the breeze.

This is the place where I've gone with my sorrow,
At times when I didn't know quite what to do.
It's also a place that I went to in joy,
Or anxiously seeking a new point of view.

See these old trees, how they silently tower,
A cathedral of peace and a part of the land.
Put out your arm, touch a trunk with your fingers
And feel the bark, rough as it lies `neath your hand.

This is the beautiful land I was born in.
This is the land that's alive in my soul.
This is the land that I'll always return to,
Knowing, in absence, I'll never be whole.

Listen for voices. This great land is speaking,
A story, more ancient than we've ever known.
It tells of the life that this great land is giving..
It speaks of each river, each tree and each stone.

It lies past my gate and you pay no admission.
But, please treat it well so our grandchildren see
The place where I went with my joy and my sorrow
And they still hear the voice of each towering tree.

© 2002 Pam H. Murray



June 3, 2002