Home

There once was a man who always wondered. The meaning of home was today’s ponder. He roamed to the busy beaver and uttered a gentle whisper. Man, here is my answer, I use my teeth like cleavers. Working through the fog to cut down logs. Making a dam for my family’s haven. Securing our safety, our love unshaken. Good morning Mr. Flea, what is that sweet home for ye? Buzzed the flea, As you can see, No one place works for me. I go one, two, three a day, that's the marvel in my way! The puzzle was refusing to unravel, so he turned to the witty squirrel. Scurrying through the trees, with a chirr it speaks, My abode is my drey, where I pleasantly stay. Sheltered from the weather, come what may. Mysterious swimmer in a bog. Oh, it was a ribbiting frog! It bit its lip and thought until it quipped, Home is my pond, where bonds grow strong. There I raise my tadpoles, and our love has no holes. Jumping out from his residence, the quiet badger spewed out a sentence Home is a burrow for me where all of my sorrows flee. In the city, he found a member of a great committee Asked her the question, got a most peculiar suggestion, sparking reflection. This home you see is just perfect for me. It keeps me safe from the rain and is where memories are lain. I can raise my son and have fun. It is my spot, standing out from the lot.” No matter if your home was a bog or a drey, you’d always be agog to stay. Tiny or huge, it would be your refuge. Sadness or bliss, a trove to memories to cherish. The place to rest you love the best.