HOME SWEET HOME
It does not matter if you are rich or poor,
It is always good to see your own front door,
Driven there in a posh chauffeured limousine
Or jumping off the bus, it’s a joyous scene.
A palace, a large house, a cottage small or a hut,
It is where you long to return and then cozily put
Up your feet, relax, for it’s where you call home,
A place full of love wherever you did roam.
A loved one to greet you, maybe a dog or a cat,
The cuckoo clock in the hall or that faded mat,
It could be a photograph that’s hangs on the wall,
Or something quite different, it changes for all.
I was thinking of these things just the other day,
And I think I am a little different in some way,
I love the physical comfort that makes home
And like to return there after a long or short roam.
But to me home is where my heart is and that could be
Wherever my dear husband is and all my great family,
No walls or windows or garden grand however nice to see,
Would be a home without those I love to see through eternity.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson January 10, 2003