The Place That I Called Home

The grass was green in the battering wind, the clouds raced 'cross the sky.  The world was alive to anyone's eye in the place that I called home.

The owl gave his cry in the deepening gloom, the stars were as sharp as a knife.  The smell of the woodsmoke moved over the frost in the place that I called home.

I walked by myself down the footpaths and byways, never feeling alone.  For thousands of years they've walked there beside me, in the place that I called home.

A pint of real cider and a great, roaring fire always takes me away.  Back to the place that there's no real leaving, the place that I called home.