When I was young, it seemed to me
The whole outdoors was wild and free,
The land was frozen tundra then
When I was at the age of ten.
We'd ski across the fields until
The house was hidden by a hill,
And only smoke would mark the spot
Where mother kept the chocolat hot.
Oh! how I'd like to go again
Back to the time when I was ten,
To have that warm assurance still
That home is just across the hill.

You say a lot in those last two lines.
I like to think that we're always home. But the
older I get, the more I wish that the "think"
could be a "know".
*s.t.*