My home is a pretty little country girl with absolutely no fears in the world. Home is how she plays the harp softly at night, her angelic fingers nimbly moving in the moonlight. You know how ballerinas have poised vulnerability, well that is how she always acts around me. Home is her tight embrace and radiant face, and my darling was born to compromise, but I donβt want that, doesnβt she realize? I want her spirit flowing through my veins, and her charm to capture my soul in chains. I want my voice to echo off her stone walls as I find her beauty in the crumbling downfall. Home is how my pen will never run out of praise for the girl who chased all my demons away. Home is the roses blooming from her fingertips, as breathtaking as the dress that matches her lips. Although cool to the touch, she is a fire, glowing in the darkest corners of desire. My home is a pretty little country girl with nothing but love for me in this world.