2023/Maya -

Whence the South I hail, where sweet peaches bloom,

And winds, like tempests, rage in full fume.

A land where candor reigns, accents as bold as traffic's roar,

And warm gusts whisper secrets, fair and foreboding lore.

My spirit like the Nanday's song, Georgia is mine own,

Where poison ivy creeps, thick and all day long.

A land of hills, and verdant forest floor,

Where memories endure, both bitter and sweet, forevermore.

Much like wind and the march of time,

Mine own abode shifts, a fickle mime.

Whenever kinfolk make their way to roam,

A tempest brews, like a storm's catacomb.

May our likenesses endure, etched in timeless cast,

For our roots art steadfast, and shall forever last.

From a sweltering sauna's haze, mine abode changed pace,

To Arizona, where heat spread like a cruel embrace.

Streets could melt shoes and cook eggs to a sunny side up craze,

People prickly like cacti, yet bore fruit so sweet, in contrast, it was true.

Bipolar, like my home's restless change,

I traverse waves, seeking lands of new exchange.

A place of cherry blossoms and tales of Namazu, I behold,

A haven where my restless spirit may finally take hold.

Hand in hand, my military brethren stand,

Our homes forever at Uncle Sam's command.

My abode lies in hearts of those I meet,

And in the soft full-size mattress that moves with me, fleet.

For soon enough, change shall come knocking at my door,

To lands of knowledge, yet to explore.

For now, I rest my head, in the same old spot,

A haven for my restless soul, a place of comfort sought.

Home is where the heart resides, in love and kinship's bond,

A beacon of hope, that forevermore, radiantly responds.