Ruth Walters (London, U.K.)
No Place Like Home
My friend's house is perfect,
they lead such perfect lives.
Curtains never out of place
and beds are made by 9.
The bathroom is in cream,
the toilet seat stays down.
There's tiny little ornaments
and soap balls all around.
My friend's house is perfect,
you dare not move a thing
for if you did they'd notice,
a tad embarrassing.
They dine at 6, no later
and then at half past eight
they have a cup of Earl Grey
and slithers of cream cake.
They talk of trivial matters,
the world evaporates.
Inside their house its perfect,
the world outside can wait.
That's why I run for cover,
right back here, alone.
It may not be quite perfect
but there's no place like home.
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Even if your house has been sucked into the sky, even if striped legs in tights are protruding from the footings, even if your anal friends are weighing each slice of pudding, even if your little dog is humping some one else's leg, even if your ruby slippers are lost under the bed, even if trash talked at by a garden gnome, your house will land on some craggy witch, and even if all alone, your house may end up in a better location increasing the equity in you home, and when your friends finally come to visit they'll be heard to say, 'There's no home at place, there's no home at place!
I like this one too. We just came back from 2 weeks of vacation and it's good to be home. Thanks,
Mark