Along coastal waters to the foreign South,
day becomes night to the West.
And once again promised to the desert East,
morning springs light from her rest.
I hear them cry for the home they once knew,
as they pack up their roots in a truck.
In search of a dream and much greener grass,
in a place with more bang for their buck.
As time marches on and I remain still,
in an attempt to stay loyal to thee.
My eyes search wide to the wet mossy North,
as I watch beloved natives flee.
While it pains to admit California has changed,
her mountains still call out my name.
Her cities and valleys, farmland and sea,
there is no place on earth quite the same.
Does it mean I will follow the trend to go too?
That depends on what happens next.
For only He knows the truth behind when,
or if ever, that choice will be flexed.
There’s truth to be told in the Grand Scheme of things,
that gets to the heart of it all
For, it’s in Him where we find our ultimate peace,
not on this big round blue ball.
So if I should die before this is known,
tell all of my sorted tales.
But highlight the end, first and foremost,
because that’s where my Savior prevails.
Don’t you dare shed a tear when He takes me from here,
for I’ll be received amidst glee.
By a great cloud of hosts who have waited the most,
to crown my soul free indeed.
--Sally J., Adult