A house can only be a home
If those who living there
Adorn the place with hopes and dreams
And love surrounds the air.
The fondest memories are forged
By every girl and boy
Where children fill the empty rooms
With happiness and joy.
A house cannot be measured by
The pictures on the walls
The dusty things kept in closets,
Toys and baubles and balls.
No, a house is best perceived by
The people living there
And those who know, know best that homes
Have a resemblance to bear.
A family is most like their house
In that they are the tools
Board and nail and stud and all
And those that miss this, fools.
A family is the perfect storm;
Hurricane gales of joy and woe
Of triumph, heartache, and remorse;
But even amidst the strife and hurt,
Through the grit and strain
The family takes it like weathered beams
Left uncovered in the rain.
And with those beams our home is borne!
A steadfast, cozy abode.
Always standing to welcome up
At the end of the road.
Grandparents are the solid