What Home Means to Me
I reach out my hand to the front door,
And look back to my dad to my dad waving me goodbye.
I enter the house to the smell of a bakery,
The little bundle of joy comes running to me,
And hugs me tight.
My mother takes out the tray of cookies from the oven, right?
Then my stepfather comes in full of fresh, sparkling snow with the dogs running behind.
They come and jump on me and makes us chuckle,
Then we all settle down to the table for bite.
The tree glowing with lights and garlands behind.
This is what home means to me.
Home is not just a word.
Home is everything,
Home is home.
You may have 1, 2, 3, or even no homes…
So, if you have a home, big, or small, apartment, or mansion,
You should always be grateful no matter what.
Because there are a lot of people out there without a home.
So, I did this poem to try to help someone have a place to stay,
But everyone should know the difference between a “Home” and a “House”
A house is the body of the home, the cement, bricks, windows, doors.
But a home is the heart, the personality, the love, joy, memories,
That is home to me.
And I can’t wait to say “Home sweet home”