A Home

My home is my house, with my room and my things My family, my pets, my books and my swings My home is special, to me and myself But what would my home mean to somebody else? If I walked through the neighbourhood, looked at the households Gardens dotted and bejewelled with bright yellow marigolds Each of my neighbours has their own house, their own property Their home would mean much more to them than it would to me So let’s take a visit down that road, into the clover Turn a bit to the left, yes, now turn right over- Oh! That’s it, see, look over that way! The house with the lilac trees that shake and sway That is my abode. My place. My home. My shelter where my mind can wander and roam Safely, freely, content and careless like a bird Now, as I’m writing this, I find something rather absurd… As I’m sitting in my chair, in my desk, in my room I think of how safe and secure I am under this moon With a roof over my head and food to eat Protection over the harsh cold and terrible heat A home is a safe place, a place to be me Things have been tough lately, as you can see The pandemic is hard and disconnecting But at least I have my family and memories Homes can mean different things to anyone, just ask You will probably get answers of a very wide mass A place to retreat to after a horrible day A place to be relieved you're not out in that storm A place to hang out with your friends and family A place to appreciate you were born with these privileges A place to be safe and welcomed A home.