Home Poem by Heath Gunn

A crackling log fire,
an old familiar chair.
A place of total safety,
for you to let down your hair.

Soft sweet smelling duvet,
towels clean and fresh.
A loving greeting always waits,
in times of your distress.

Somewhere to run and hide in,
when the world around turns black.
Safe strong arms to wrap you up,
when all have turned their backs.

Or just a place to have some fun,
where you can be yourself.
Away from questioning, judging eyes,
of everybody else.

A cup of tea, or watch T.V,
or lay in steaming bath.
A hot meal and a bed to sleep,
just a short walk down the path.

Heath Gunn