What is Home?
I wasn't really sure what kind of answer to give, In trying to describe the place in which I live. If a house full of people is what's called a home Then what is it called when I'm all alone? Is it just then a house made of wooden timbers When not filled to the brim with family members? I've moved so often from the time I was born. I find that my allegiance to any one place is torn. There is jolly old England the place of my birth, Where I grew as a person, but felt no self worth. Perhaps it might be Iran, Iraq, Saudi or Dubai, Where I had to tell so many wonderful friends goodbye. I must also consider Norway, Greece, and Italy, Places that will always live in my memory. Lest I forget Trinidad, Germany, and the US, I can not really say which one I liked best. Today bonnie Scotland is where I leave my shoes, So you must forgive me if I find it hard to choose. Home for me is not a country, a village or city, It's the people in my heart that I always carry with me. Written November 21st, 2001 © on Nov 21 2001 02:38 AM PST 10 • 0
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"I wasn't really sure what kind of answer to give,..."