The way

The place or places that could be

Altering from across to another

The sky filling the air

Where trees grow and people walk

From the bitterness of society

To the sweet sense of the air

Walking out of proportion to the hills that roll

This is a place called home

To the rhythm of time ticking

By the endless sounds that flow

Where nothing ever stops

By the time that people see

This is a place we grow

Almost to the tippy top

Rolling aside the problems

The hills and the place calide   

To the green never ending sight

Where no one hears

The place so far away

Only one place could be found

That is the place of places

The place called home