Her hello was like the welcome mat that laid on the front porch,
A warm welcome, that never changed,
A steady conversation followed a smile,
That was her,
A picture of perfection, a sense of being home,
My heart fluttered at the thought,
Soon keys jingled, finding their way into the lock,
Her very essence was that of a fresh baked apple pie,
Coming out of the stove,
Warm, inviting,
I felt at ease everytime my eyes found her,
Though she was never far at all,
Our feet hugged the hardwood floor,
The paint on the walls, matched her complex,
A french vanilla, with or without the marshmellow,
My heart fluttered,
We found ourselves lost,
Without distraction,
No silly infomercials, no talk shows as the televison didn't come on,
No interruption by the doorbell,
Nothing at all,
As she spoke all about her day,
As I was simply glad to be home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem