Home is where cat hair clings to clothes
The shelves smell like old books
None of the chairs match
Sunlight warms furred and floored bellies
And coffee is a drink for all hours of the day
Where a morning chatter comes from more than lips but whispered snout
A day spent reading in a shady hammock spot
Bare feet and socks that don’t always match
The place I always loose my keys
And burst into song when the whim is pleased
Up till two on an adventure strike
Sleeping till three to recharge
Tumbling and writing to feed the starving muse
Remembering to do the dishes while not really wanting too
It isn’t always perfect
And accidents happen more often than not
Perfectly Imperfect
Home
All the best are.