The Hills of Home

These hills I see are not my native hills,
but I am part of them and they of me.
This lake is not the lake I drifted on
when those remembered hearts and I were young,
but drifting, I remember how it was
and so the lake becomes a part of me.
These aspen trees are not the trees I knew
in woodlands where I wandered as a boy,
but aspen trees bring back those woods to me
and part of me becomes the aspen trees.
These lakes, these woods, these hills become my own,
my friends and more than friends encircle me,
and everywhere I look is memory.
So do these hills become the hills of home.