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November 26, 2018  •  Leave a Comment

Home a word, a place, a feeling. Home when I go home, sometimes I shut the door and try to keep everybody out. Sometime I open up all the windows and all the doors and just let it hang out.

My home became a box, and then a tree, oh where oh where shall I be. I bounced around and then rebound but still where is me. When I go home where shall l be. 

Now as I see, all people want to be. Home is where we go, but home, my home without, my box and, without, my tree, I shall not be.

Just a little poem by me. We have just one world, a little place where we can all be, yet to call it home we have to share don’t you see.

by Christopher Palm

 


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