First Home

We all have a place that to us is first home
To the Parisian it is Paris to the Roman it is Rome
The place where they first looked on the lamp of day
And with their young friends children games they did play
Though in their first home some do not choose to stay
The wanderlust in them for lands far away
Though in fancy they often visit the what used to be
And friends of the past do feel happy to see
That love of place transcends love of Country is not a lie
Some live in their first home until the day they do die
Even in the ageing migrant some nostalgia remain
Just to walk on the streets of the hometown again
And though the migrants are ageing and their best days long gone
The love of their first home place in them lives on.