In a little house, just off the main road
I lived and loved with my family.
The house was small, and often cramped,
But it was warm, with good smells and lots of smiles.
It was a house of imagination,
Childhood dreams, grown-up ambitions, hopes for the future.
It was a place to be free,
To run and scream, laugh and cry, but mostly,
To be myself.
It was full of sunlight, and you could always hear the two big dogs,
Romping and rough-housing, barking and playing
In the green grass out back.
Sometimes, it was too loud.
Arguments, debates, and disagreements peppered the air,
Made the house hot, and ready to burst.
But mostly I remember cool spring days, with the front door open,
So the wind could come and kiss my face.
My family I remember most of all.
My father, greying, with shiny glasses and a big belly,
Who taught me to question, to think, and of course
To write. To love and be loved by words.
My mother, with caring blue eyes and no shortage of love.
She taught me to reach out, and connect to people,
To give of myself for the good of others.
And my little sister, with crazy brown curls and the eyes of a dreamer,
Her head full of stories and impossible things,
From her I learned what it means to be a sister,
What it means to have fun, and not care what some may think.
My family has given me everything,
A home, a brain, a heart, and a smile.
Soon, I’ll be leaving the little house by the road.
Moving on to bigger and better things, I guess.
When I go away to school, the memories will give me comfort.
At night, I’ll remember home.
My heart will always be here, with the house, the dogs, and the people.
In the house where I lived and loved with my family.