What is a home?
It may not be a house but a place of leisure and pleasure.
There your soul is at ease, maybe even a drink that may please.
It’s so good to be home, your private hiding place where the ghosts of the day have ceased to roam.
So wonderful as you sit in your favorite chair, your entire body settles in it like Jell-O in a mold and
as you relax in your underwear you think; who’s to care, now I am at peace in my soul.
Your special someone may be there, your eyes follow them everywhere, and just their presence in the room prevents any lurking gloom.
Each morning you sigh, how I hate to leave my Castle and say goodbye, many times with a tear in my eye.
It’s sad but true, the wish of the one who is to die; is to go *home, their final place to lie.
*When my Dad was dying he wanted to go home to his Condo and that’s
where he died, at home, at rest.