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

© PB 20\11\2017.

Love yes but seems to be selfish
One after another trying to take it
Vile and unworthy are we
In the eyes we soon will see
Nothing compares to love
Great love of caring

Care of just that of someone
And the ache in our chest can be soothed
Really we just need to care
Everyone deserves LOVING CARE

Wierd,
Crazy,
Happy,
Be with friends like you,
Cause life sometimes has few chapters,
A short novel.
15/7/2025