When I Look Out My Window
When I turn that knob every time,
These are the people who come to mind.
Boy, girl, small, tall,
Those who have a home, or none at all,
What my home means to me.
Is a place for friends and family.
I have a warm bed,
And a roof over my head.
People come and go,
But there is one thing I know.
The thing I like to do the most,
When we have extra food,
Is share with those who don’t have much,
Spreading joy and lifting the mood!
When there is a stormy night,
My family stays in and plays games,
I look out my window and think of the people
Without homes, even though I don’t know their names.
That is why I am writing this poem for them,
Because my home means so much to me,
And my hope is that one day they will also,
Find a place to live in peace and harmony.