The Old Apple Tree And Dad Poem by Alfred Barna

It has long been said that you can't go back home. I believe what is meant by that, is that place where we were nurtured with as children, becomes a mythical place where we endeavor to recreate for ourselves and our loved ones becomes a life long quest. As Frost mentions in his poems, as journey is undertaken, where we fret and worry ourselves into the search for things which seem out of reach, wonderful words, that rest upon our tongues, never quite finding their rightful place in audible terms for all to hear and understand. Yet, even in the darkest of frigid nights, we notice stars up in the heavens, twinkling their messages eons before, and eons after us; home is that warm nestling place we all long for in our hearts and souls. Know that your Dad rests and awaits the day, where we can all nestle in that place of familiarity, that long awaited gathering of friends and family; for we all truly shall make it back home. All Fathers know and wait for the day, when his children step inside the hearth, and embrace those long for feelings, of letting go our grief, our cares, our worries, but most of all, letting go of that search; for we are home. Here is a poem, I wrote for my Dad when he left to rest. I hope it brings you some comfort and closure, for our search is temporal, but Love is eternal.