My house is made of wood and brick,
windows, doors that often stick,
A nice TV, a comfy rug,
A squishy bed all warm and snug.
But these are all material things,
We cling to like Mums Apron strings,
Just 'stuff,' 'posessions,' things we own,
These don't make my house a home.
My Home is made of love and fun,
with memories of the things we've done,
The tiny child that I gave life,
The day that I became Kev's wife.
My home is not just in four walls,
or in my shoes, my bags, my smalls.
Its in the place where love does start,
My home is settled in my heart.