Our Home
By Erin Stanton
You may look and think it’s nothing special
For its just wooden walls painted red
With a tangled, wild lawn
And a crooked drive way filled with cracks
The mail box fall of its post
And the street number just won’t hang straight
The shutters paint is peeling off
And the stones in the path way are popping up
But from the road no one can miss
The sing that reads ‘home sweet home’
To the world this house is nothing special
But to the family that lives inside
The world holds no greater place
To them the walls are filled with love
The front lawn is entwined with memories
And each imperfection this house contains
Is the result of a renowned story
The cracks in the drive way
And holes in the path
Mark the trail to the place
They refer to as home