Home, Where Memories Are Made

Home, a place I can stay And come to everyday. If there is a storm My Dad would turn on the Fireplace to keep us warm. In the evening my Mom’s Cooking is in the air. Then I hear my brother yelling, “It’s not fair!” In my home, There are many books, Some about magic, And some about looks. Some people don’t have a home, And that is the sad truth. They are left to roam. So, I am writing this poem To share what it is like to Have a home. People who have homes are lucky, But I feel sad for all The people who are unlucky. Truly, home is where memories are made.