Beaver Bank Nova Scotia
At the end of the street with a big yard to play,
It’s the place I come home to, from school each day.
A nice white house with dark green shutters,
My home is my home compared to others.
Home is where my neighbours are, and my friends that are sweet,
Home is where there are always new places and people to meet.
Home is not always a place, sometimes more like a feeling in between,
A place of love, joy, laughter, and family.
My family is something that no money can buy,
They are here for me, and to comfort me when I cry.
Home is where my family has time for each other,
me , my sister, my father, and my mother.
My home is lit by the light and warmth of the fire,
My home is a place that will truly inspire.
Home is where I have a right to my opinion and to speak my mind,
But in my home we must also be kind.
To others to have a home means to have a huge mansion and stuff,
But homes are really about the memories,
And even the smallest homes have enough.
When I look out my window and gaze at the rain,
I feel sorrow for those without homes and with pain.
With clothes on my back and a roof over my head,
Why do people live outside on the road instead?
Some homes are big, some can be just a shack,
But a safe, warm, happy, and loving environment,
No person or place should lack.
Home is something everyone in this world will need,
Let’s fill our world with houses, not selfishness and greed!
This poem will mean something to someone out there,
Without enough homes we all should care!