Where We Belong

On holidays people travel home
Where memory prevails;
On automatic pilot,
They’re like magnet-grabbing nails.

Expecting they can recreate
That childhood sense of wonder;
But once we’re grown that innocence
Is likely torn asunder.

It cannot be the way it was
‘Cause we ourselves have changed.
We’re like some lumps of clay
That life has somehow rearranged.

We’ve journeyed through some ups and downs
And sometimes gotten battered;
Yet still, despite our bruises
We did not forget what mattered.

And so, we hearken to the sound
And heed that sirens’ song,
And follow it to be again
At home, where we belong.