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