Place called home

I'd want to build a home someday
with nimble notes of music for bricks
those that'd lend their sweet echoing voices
those that'd ring over and beyond my gardens.
Whimsical words would make up my walls
their heart warming melody, my ceiling.

I'd have a home that'd rest on the hills
an abode of all my forgotten dreams.
I'd have fixtures made of love, light and trust
I'd paint them with the colors of joy and comfort.
I'd have a door that'd sing a song of sweet delight
I'd swing it wide to welcome you home each night.

I'd have two friends who'd often visit
who'd sit by the light and talk things I'd not recall
I'd have an oven to bake them brown bread
I'd serve on purple plates with white flowers on them
I'd talk to them about my dog and its rug
and I'd hope my dog would rush me a hug.

I'd long for Sundays for my mother'd be home
she'd bring me things I'd never use for a long time to come
I'd still wrap and store 'em in brown bags carefully
I'd give her a teary kiss and thank her profusely
She'd talk to me of my little sister's nice new pond
I'd listen delightedly and would want to laugh loud

I'd long to be home when the world'd shun me
to listen to my father and his never ending rants
I'd long to be lost in my sister's light laughter
to be with my mother as she'd search her mower
I'd long to be home where there'd be you and our laughter
I'd long to finally be home never to go out after.

Gargi