What Makes a Home

My normal route diverted, I walked north instead of south And passed a man who looked like he Existed hand to mouth. He’d made a small encampment Underneath a walking bridge, Though of course he lacked a bathroom Or a closet or a fridge. But I had to give him credit For I couldn’t help but look As he knelt before a bookshelf Picking out the perfect book. There were maybe twenty volumes, Neatly standing side by side, Clearly adding to the ambiance Of where he does reside. We can make our living quarters Cozy, if we are in luck, But to do so when you’re homeless Takes a little bit of pluck.