My Home as a Poem

A house is different than a home, It's a precious place I can call my own, Not just a shelter but almost a feeling, Where love is caught below my ceiling. My green front yard, where the nature takes guard, Without a roof or four walls like a room, It holds my everlasting memories that can never be swept away by any sort of broom. My mysterious front door, also my friend, If I slam it too hard, its care could never end, It blocks bad thought from entering my home, And leaves a healthy space for my imagination to roam. My small but spacious dining room, The scent of food as fragrant as perfume, Where dishes are served, Seats are reserved, Where friendship and happiness bloom. My room for living, Disagreeing and forgiving, Everyone joins together, And our worries drop like a feather. Then there's my kitchen, where the magic is made, Quantities of sweets cluttered like a brigade, Drinks, desserts and traditional food, Tasting these foods will instantly enlighten your mood. Then there's my basement, Where you lose things by misplacement, It's very cold, but precious as gold, And where things from years ago you lost unfold. Finally, my bedroom, Where my dreams are created, The lights are bright or gloom, Where my wishes are inflated. My home is special, It makes me feel like I have potential, My home is more than I can explain, Twisted and turned with love and care like a candy cane. I hope my poem, could help build a home, And that habitat for humanity succeeds, To help rebuild lives like a broken bracelet and beads. For hate to shrink and for love to extend, As my home poem leads to the end.