Every home has a Mother
Waiting with open arms at the door.
And a Dad in his armchair,
As the tradition goes.
Welcome to the lounge
Where we can huddle by the fire.
TV in the corner
And - if you have them –
Dogs and cats to stroke.
Then there’s Sunday Lunch
And those daily aromas of baking.
Memories of scooping out the bowl
And eating most of the peas you shelled.
Home – a place of refuge
Where you can bring all your troubles
And have them resolved.
Our Mum kept a beautiful garden,
Resplendent with colourful flowers.
An oasis on a council estate.
As Dorothy Gale of Oz fame said before me:
There’s no place like Home.
Paul
Butters
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PB 20\11\2017.
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