I’m no poet, but for what its worth, this came to me last night.  Hope you like it.

Partridgeberry jam by the spoonful from the jam dish: You can taste it.
Wood smoke drifts from chimneys in the frosty morn : you can smell it.
Dew kissed fence palings on your path : you can feel it.
Vapor rising from the glass like sound : you can see it.
An echoing put put from down the arm : you can hear it

Home, it fills up your senses, never to be forgotten.

… Me …