Home Is
Home is where quart jars house earth's goods
Where the clothe's line is the place to spot the seasonal bird
Where there's never a full crayon in the half full box and the yo-yo always bumps the floor
Where there's an inate faith that the sun will always rise and the sun will always set in that same lead glass window
Home is where the rugs are warn and the piano needs tuned
Where the quietness means "they're up to something" and the steps are the preferred place to house your shoes
Where there's more stuffed animals on the bed than blanket
And on the dining table, a bible spread open in the hopes of finding daily comfort
Where the bills are high, but who cares
Where quiet time's when the sun leaves
Where the printer never has any ink
And a prayer is the last thing you think
Home is where to a friend, foe, family or not, the front door always says welcome
Where there's more school papers than books
Where there's more coats than hooks
Where I long to be even after the nicest of vacations
Well , maybe it's not your's, but I call it "Home".
