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Heimweh!
Heimweh they call it in Germany,
Homesickness in our own tongue,
That longing for familiarity.
When you’ve been away too long.
I really miss my family.
Home, in taste, in smell and song.
The bare hills seen mistily,
Where I ran when I was young.
There I miss the scudding clouds,
The sudden rain,
The Curlew and the Lark,
The morning mist in the valley,
And the sun out on the top.
But that is half a life ago
And were I to return,
I know that more than half of me
For Germany would yearn.
For the warm friends who are always there,
For fresh drawn beer,
And the dark forest,
Which once swallowed the pride of Rome,
And cold war armies.
This too, is home and mine,
So I’ll stay here,
With my own!
