I know that house

I know that room,
The flowered cushions and worn away carpet,
The wooden table where I'd draw my own world with those soft, coloured crayons,
I didn't need to run away from any danger or tide,
I'd give anything again to have that sketch pad by my side

I know that room,
The dark TV with programmes in black and white,
The crosswords we used to fill in and guess,
Biros left on cabinets, in handbags,
Newspapers held in the hands of my Grandad

I know that room,
The ice-cream cornets made by our Auntie,
The fridge magnets and sliding door made to look fancy,
Frilly white blankets over the sofa arms,
Photos held in the hands of my Grandma

Is it too much to ask to go back to that room,
To sit on the blue floor and tell them "I love you".