Rhyming Stories

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Poems your heart will cradle.

Robert R Sytnick
4.8 18 reviews
Age Rating:

Homeward Wind

My restless soul gives into the call of the Homeward Wind,

Thoughts of my youth and green acres, now win,

The countryside where I was born, and my next of kin.

My first kiss, my first love, and my tempted first sin,

Take me back, Take me back Homeward Wind.

I walk on the green acres of home, look back, and see,

The Homeward Wind calms my soul, and I give thanks, to ‘Thee’.

The distant apple tree bears new fruit and still stands alone,

The hidden robin nest is filled with young, that have not yet flown.

The green grass of the meadows are now home to nature’s deer,

As a doe can be seen in the midday sun, nursing her twins, without man's fear.

A garter snake slithers its way along last winter’s dried leaves,

The new clover blossoms give call, to the hum of the feeding bees,

The whisper of a whippoorwill as it sings in the distance, from the forest of pine trees.

The rusted plow stuck in its last furrow, now frozen in time.

The old tree house in the great oak that withstood time, and that, I still call mine.

The sounds of a rippling brook that continually flows like a rhyme.

The heart, I carved with my jack knife into a cottonwood tree, I must find.

Your initials and mine are forever locked, in love, like in time.

And the first kiss I gave you under our cottonwood tree,

Is sealed in my heart, and never to be set free.

The tattered old farm house stands, but has lost its will,

The great northerns have taken their toll, as the old house weakens and is still.

The blistering white paint and the broken glass that rests on the windowsill.

The picket fence around the garden where my bike once leaned, has fallen at will.

Subtle sounds of a loose shingle unbuckles my spine, and I feel a chill.

A look back to see a reflection from a broken mirror, in the bedroom where my mother lay, and first took ill.

The old house on the hill where I was born, begins to lose its will.

And the Homeward Wind is silenced and now lies still.

The green grass of home that has been calling me,

And the first kiss I gave you under the cottonwood tree,

Is embedded in my heart and only you hold the key

And carved in granite on my stone, this my memory.

As my ashes are carried by the Homeward Wind, always to be free.

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Further Recommendations

Jacqueline: This book is a good book, a few errors but I could have understand what you meant so this is a 4 star book

Ashish eashu: I like this poetry I felt it

Captain Nowan: I have been following Midika since I started reading on Wattpad and I must say she's one of the most amazing werewolf-themed story writers I have ever came across with. Sure there could be some cliche ideas in this story but what makes it unique is the touch of reality the author was able to blen...

Virago: no words It’s so good. This is my 6th time rereading it. This somewhere may sound like a song, which I think is very cool. Overall, it is amazing.

dipti nerlekar: Interesting drama and romance

Menna Hassan: So far..I'm very intrigued and excited to see how this book will progress!

pencil: Something pulls at the heart and then distracts and makes it not pull. There is a urgency a haste to read and rally at the schizophrenic mind. But the schizophrenic mind is never sane and it is very unrelenting and not reliable. The images come and go and there is not much one can speak to someon...

Laraine Smith: This should be a movie! :)

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Laraine Smith: I was also a victim of verbal, physical, and sexual abuse by my father. One time, he threatened to beat me with a belt. This story enabled me to talk about it. Thank you. :)

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