Whenever you think of your first home-place are nostalgic tears near to your eyes
And of your friends of the past do you retain the mental images and remember them when you visualize
And do you remember your first hometown and the people that you knew there?
If so you are not unusual the past follows us everywhere
Do you visualize the high country half cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And do you hear the rainwater gurgling in the fast flowing river bound drain?
It takes us to far away places this great gift known as memory
In truth it does seem very natural to remember the what used to be
You may have left your first home-place out of a sense of adventure or maybe for material or financial gain
And the reason you do not return to there is only for you to explain
You may have been a misplaced person a famine or a war refugee
One reason that people do migrate is out of extreme poverty
In fancy do you hear the people singing in your far away village at night
And hear the loud cries of wild creatures under a starry sky in the moonlight
Old memories not known to die easily in most people until death they do last
The one who does not have a future is the one who does not have a past
Whenever you think of your first home-place do your eyes mist over in tears
The past is something that is with you though you are well advanced in years
For as long as the gift of memory is with you the good or not so good memories with you do remain
And in your moments of reflection the past you do visit again.