This is why I write.

Home

Of all the places that we seek,
there's one that's greater than the most
With all the longing into deep,
of what it feels to have a home.

For most it is a place to be,
in four walls standing, painted blue;
but not that what it is to me,
the day I fell in love with you.

This home I speak of, has no roof
and only has your arms to hold,
for bricks don't match to what we've built,
a solid ground in winter, cold.