called back

As much as I might fight it, it is still home.

I feel the calling of the land,
The trees and summer streams;
The thunderstorms and sun-drenched lakes,
The land of boyhood dreams.

The little town where someone’s dad
Owned every shop and store;
And every face you saw you knew
And welcomed at your door.

A forest full of mystery,
An undiscovered find
That flexed imagination
In an adolescent mind.

The place my seed was rooted
In fields where I once grew;
The home of every memory
Of everything once new.

Beneath the sea of motion,
Beneath the waves and foam,
I rest on its foundation -
Michigan is home.
~ Matthew Ashbrook


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