Our Home Within

A warm safe place out of the cold, with all you might need to have to hold. Each frame, each shelf, reflects who you are. A moving sculpture of your memoirs. It's walls and floors absorb every voice... each wail or cry, and every time we rejoice. In the still and quiet the dark sighs and the echo of a thousand footsteps go by. And yet ... and yet, If the roof caved in and the walls fell down, in my memories are these same ghostly sounds. It is in the hand my child holds and the stories my husband has told. Our home is so dear to us but always within, our temple of blood and bone and skin.