Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, May 18, 2020

Homes

I admit it, I'm a homebody.
This pandemic hasn't changed my lifestyle much at all. I hated to go out before.
I hate to go out now.
I wrote this song for the play: The Three (Plus a Few) Little Pigs a year ago.
It tugs at my heart today.
I offer it today for Poetry Monday: Home.
Picture the little piggies and wolves singing it!


Here in this world are many different houses you can see,
There are houses on the ground and there are houses in the trees,
And some float on the water and some others are of stone.
One thing they have in common is that each is someone’s home.

Cause in this world, there’s nothing like your home,
It welcomes every day, be it on land or sea or foam.
Like a hug, it wraps around you as you step inside the door,
Yes, there’s nothing like a place to call your own.



Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts...
Perhaps a grin?
So all of us, together, we
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you've read what we have wrought...
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Jenny, Charlotte and Mimi are also participating.
Take a little jaunt over and see what they've done with the topic!

Next week, it's time for shows and tells,
Cause we'll all be discussing 'Smells'!

9 comments:

  1. In truth, there's nothing like home. Well written indeed. And re-using is the new black ;)
    A co-homebody.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The video doesn't work for me but I can imagine the cuteness! Well said, Diane.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I love your poem. It's true, there's no place like home.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Great poem. The fact that I'm a home body has kept me and TLW from cabin fever during all this mess. I missed church, but we could at least hear the seromons on live stream. Great post!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Awesome poem. I am homebody too but I do miss the option to go out and enjoy life too!

    ReplyDelete
  6. Home is the first place we run to and sometimes the first place we run from. Great poem.

    ReplyDelete

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