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.