Home Poem by Delaney Rose

Upon a hill, or in the trees,
Or maybe on the sand watching the sea:
Is my home, everywhere to me.
This home, my home has no doors, or walls,
or floors to keep me in.
Instead, my home has arms, and feet,
To walk with me in the sand.
Home has laughter and private jokes.
Not shut doors and leaky sinks.
This home, my home has no paint, or wallpaper,
Or pointless fixtures that go out of style.
Instead, my home has hands, and eyes that tell countless stories.
No, my home is not a place, a dream, or even a memory.
It is those who will sit upon a hill, or in the trees,
or even in the sand and watch the sea.