Francis Santaquilani


Called Home - Poem by Francis Santaquilani

Called home

He was. Where is home?

No place I want to be.

It was never here.

He trashed our home

Like a rude guest

Who overstayed his welcome

By twenty years.

I never thought he'd leave.

He always yearned for a warmer place.

Our love made him shiver.

I think he'll feel right at home

In a place that's very hot

And without love.

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Poem Submitted: Friday, July 27, 2007

Poem Edited: Monday, December 12, 2011


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