A Dream of Home
By Aileen McPherson
A home of my own with Charles, Jack, and
Munchkin by my side, a place where our
family extended and otherwise will reside.
Built around the heart, the kitchen
where we’ll find foods to nourish body and
mind, conversations shared as we dine, a
pantry full would be sublime, no formalities
needed, our table setting is full of loving
kindness where all are respectfully greeted.
Where washrooms are needed, plenty
will be seated, baths beautiful with luxuries
divine, wash, soak or sing – this relaxing is very fine.
Rooms galore, in which beds soft and plush
beckon family and friends to retreat, welcome
slumber deep with dreams sweet.
A library grand, where volumes from
floor to ceiling rise, be they fact or fiction
matters not, journals penned by hand on
lives that took a stand, all shelved so
knowledge is always at hand.
A room of living is standard and said
required for hosting, toasting and boasting.
Instead I choose a family den, full of
comfort and care for all visiting and living
there, simple serene, a large fireplace sets
this scene where our Holy Days gleam, while
no television will be seen for it’s obscene.
Office room there will be for businesses
bright and keen, works done will include
many things, writings, designs, arts in
various states, old, new some just for me,
while others to share with you.
A carriage house is nice to have, it helps make
vehicles last, however, save the best for last.
Gardens beautiful and vast, a sea of green
from which medicines are gleaned, as rosy
cheeks vine and sneak, to flowers bold inside
Dyes do hold, herbs galore for kitchen stores,
plus many more bees and butterflies adore.
This is my wish, my hope, and dreams, of all
the things I could want, a home full of peace, happiness,
safety day and night, free from negativity and strife,
this has been my only goal in life.
Until then I fidget and fight to keep my home
safe, fixing what’s wrong making things right,
listening to sirens screaming day and night,
Aggravating anxiety left and right, forcing me
to wander, wondering when I’ll see an end
to this plight.
Until then, I will continue to pen, for many
stories have yet to be sung.
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