Home Poem

When I think of a house, I see wood and bricks. When I think of my home, I see love and tricks. In a house It feels cold and dry. But at home, it feels warm with a sweet smell of pie. It doesn't matter if my shelter is big or small. I will love it even if I am too tall. Being home could be boring. But sometimes it’s like eating an ice cream cone. My mom, dad and my siblings. We built and filled our home like a building, without performing any drillings. In my place is my home. I will protect it, like it was Rome.