Home Poem



Warm sugar cookies that my Grandmom prepares.

I love to look, I love to stare.

She always told me not to share 

What has been in her generations for years.

My Mom is sick with a cold. But she’s so bold,

We would not even know if she hadn’t told.

My Dad is kind, my Dad is nice, 

And he never shot down a game of dice.

My little sister is sleeping.

She is so peaceful, she doesn’t notice me peeking.

I can’t escape it, these feelings of home, 

But really, life is unknown.