The Heart of Home
The morning light spills soft and gold,
On kitchen tiles, not new, but bold.
A kettle hums, the toast pops high,
And cinnamon dances in the sky.
The scent of stew, the clink of pans,
A chorus sung by loving hands.
The oven glows, the bread is warm,
Inside, we’re safe from any storm.
The garden hums with bees and green,
Tomatoes ripe, a vibrant scene.
Carrots peek from earthen beds,
And lettuce lifts its leafy heads.
The laughter rings, a joyous tune,
Like wind-chimes dancing under moon.
Bare feet patter, toys in flight,
The kind of chaos that feels right.
A crayon masterpiece, half done,
Sticky fingers, shouts of fun.
The dog’s asleep, the cat’s a blur,
As love runs wild and hearts confer.
It’s not the walls or painted door,
It’s voices echoing the floor.
It’s hugs at dawn and evening light,
And whispered stories late at night.
It’s meals we share and hands we hold,
New memories formed, and tales retold.
A garden grown, a kiss, a song—
In this sweet place, we both belong.
For "home" is not a place we find,
It’s made with care, and hearts aligned.
And every laugh and loving chore
Adds one more brick forevermore.