HOME

HOME

I've spent some time thinking
When it's late and I'm alone,
About where people live,
And the place they call 'home'.

Now I live on a mountain
Where the mighty oak tree grows;
Where the winter gets very cold
When the old North Wind blows.

Some prefer a lofty castle,
Way over on the Rhine;
Some may choose a temple,
But my home is my shrine.

It's made of brick and mortar,
Knotty pine and sturdy oak
It may not suit everyone but
It's okay for us country folk.

Perhaps it doesn't matter
Where we live on this planet Earth;
A cabin or a temple
As long as we know it's worth.

It's a place we can come back to
When we no longer need to roam;
That's what it's really all about -
The place that we call HOME!

Countrymom
9/25/03

© Copyright 2003 Countrymom- Spirit of '76 (UN: countrymom at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Countrymom- Spirit of '76 has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.