A house
Is not a home
Until you can climb the front steps
Of the porch with peeling paint
And find yourself at ease
A house
Is
Not
A
Home
Until Grandma no longer fights
And Dad no longer yells
And brother
No longer cries
When nobody is looking
And sister
No longer draws
With thick red paint
Across her wrists
and Mom
Stays
Just
Where
She
Was
Supposed
To
Be
All
Along.
A house
Is not
A home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful poem expressed in unique ways..I liked it ..