Home poem

What does home mean to me?

Home?

To me home was books.

An endless place where I could escape to the furthest galaxy or just sit in a quiet meadow. The library was always calm and quiet and the librarians were always happy to talk about new books to read.

Inside the pages I would go on countless adventures, be a princess, or vacay on a beautiful island.

In the chilly winters while Jack Frost danced around sprinkling snow I would be curled up in a chair by the fireplace on a deserted island with pirates.

In the cool, crisp autumns I could sit in the window seat admiring the tye-dyed leaves while being part of the royal court.

In the warm spring while sitting on a bench I could investigate vampires.

And in the summers while sitting on the green grass I was climbing a snowy mountain.

Books always made me feel special and warm inside and set my imagination into overdrive.

If I was sad a book would dry my tears or be the shoulder to cry on.

When happy we would visit far off lands and have adventures.

I was never bored with books and never will be too old to enjoy them.

Books are my happy place, my center, my home.