Is it possible to remember a time
and place you have never seen.

Is it nostalgia, true nostalgia,
to yearn for that 
which you never had.

The rolling hills are there,
and passing through them
brings the clear clarion call
of remembrance.

Smelling the golden grasses
dried by the symphonic sunlight
of summer.

Touching the live oak leaves
redolent with green, as tears
of longing drop among 
the acorns of desire.

Sing to me, meadowlarks,
sing and echo down the valleys,
laughing as we roll
together once more,
as never before,
here in our heartland of heavenly thirst
for the sweet honey
of home.

Home once more,
for the first time of
many times to come.

Returning home, returning
to a place and time out of time,
no longer there, no longer
there.

Never really there.

Lost in our memories and
now found
in our dreams of brilliant 
buttercups.

My eyes seek and send my heart
the feelings of remembrance and
nostalgia,
aching, necessary nostalgia,
that fills me up.

Fills me up a store of memories 
to succor me
when remembrance is all there is and
all there ever will be.

Of the place
that really only lives
within me, inside me, all alone in
my chambered soul.