I continue going through paperwork and found this poem. I remember cutting it out years ago when I lived at the old farm house. It makes me smile this cold wintry morning. I guess I could change the wording to "Homes". That seems to be One Woman's Journey. Homes she created and they have all been special.
There's a home
whose rooms
I know by heart.
Where I tend the garden
and read my books.
Where dreams are dreamt
and memories made.
Where children grew up
and grandchildren visted
and I grew old.
There's a home
where life is lived
A home where I belong
Author unknown
Some thoughts from this One Woman on her Journey Through This Life
6 comments:
Lovely poem. Sounds like you could have written it. Have a good weekend.
A home only becomes a home after we begin to fill it with memories.
Thank you Judy. Tabor I guess all my homes are homes because there is nothing new inside. All the old thing that I have had for years. Things passed down from mother and grandmother. So once I fill any home with these items it is like I am home.
A lovely poem ...I hope you are well! gail
I loved the poem...Enjoy the rest of our weekend!
xoxo
Gail and Grammie, thanks for checking in. Take Care
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