My Home Is Where My Heart Is

my home is where my heart is.

the white furniture are the veranda
the black umbrella at the side of the door
the green grass the lush trees
the pathway filled with pebbles
the ceiling with a fan
the stairs without dust
the railings with shellac
mahogany smell of walls
the well at the backyard
the smell of bacon at the kitchen
scrambled eggs and fresh milk
every morning
the smoke rising to the roof
of white steam rice

mother calling us all
and father waiting
praying for grace
and then this hearty meal

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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