Doesn’t matter who I be meetin,’
doesn’t matter who I do seek.
They will always be gleamin’
a mirrored fragment of my missing piece.

Doesn’t matter what I be finding.
Doesn’t matter what holds my eye.
‘Cause I’m always reminded
that what’s in my hands, lives on inside.

Doesn’t matter where I be ramblin’,
doesn’t matter where my feet stand.
‘Cause I’ll always be plantin’
where I reclaim more of who I am.

I know I’m Home when the Love overflows.
Singing these country roads take me home.

Doesn’t matter what I be doubtin’,
doesn’t matter how much I pout.
‘Cause these roads do always arc homeward
toward the glory of being found.

Doesn’t matter what ground I till up.
Doesn’t matter my hoped for crop.
‘Cause each moment of greenin’ wonder
sets its table for my return to Love.

I do raise my hand to be more mindful of how I’m greetin’ each soul that I meet, ‘cause I’ll always be returning a mirrored fragment of their piece of me.

+++++++++++++++

In dreams long passed, I’d pace the trails that wore the path of the country roads. A Dorothy adorned in her ruby shoes I’d click my heels to those songs of old.

We’re bound away, we’re bound away across our wide Missouris. But in the end, we’ve known the way to the place where the roads always go, scenting trails of tobacco smoke.

I never thought that I’d return to the lands I left many songs ago. My weary eyes, my beleaguered soul has sung its way Home to my Shenando’.

I knew its sound when it sang out on heartstrings strung across all lifetimes. Sung only once, I shed the tears that sound its deep Shenandoahan rhyme.