The Stranger

This network of interwoven streets
is where my roots lie deep,
and this the house where I was born
though I have been long gone.
Every year brought visits here,
a pilgrimage back home
to friendly neighbours, open doors,
where I was known.

Times change, those folk are gone,
and I am known no more,
just a stranger looking on
outside this old familiar door,
my name remembered by so few
though family ties were strong.
Now only whispered memories
tell that I belong.

Yet still I find I’m drawn back here,
still I search these streets
for memories of those happy times
that seem just out of reach.
You may wonder who I am,
a stranger looking on,
but for me this is my home,
the place where I belong.

Elizabeth Leaper
(from ‘Collecting Cobwebs, Gathering Brambles’)


4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Jules
    May 13, 2019 @ 11:54:55

    When one moves often it is hard to develop those feelings of belonging.
    Though I have gone back to a few old neighborhoods…everything is so very different, older, colder, smaller, darker – I can only hope those buildings are a new home for someone else.


    • Libby
      May 13, 2019 @ 13:46:34

      I left as a small child. Grandparents and other relatives lived there for many years (a few still do but not in this street!) We went ‘home’ as my mother called it every year to visit so were well known – how times change! The house my grandmother lived in for her last years is now demolished but the house I was born in is still there.


  2. elaine patricia
    May 13, 2019 @ 17:41:03

    So lovely to have a place called home. With my Dad in the forces we never stopped moving about.


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