Through the mist, could be seen,
A lone dilapidated house.
With broken window panes, a decaying door,
And withered trees that stood around.
But from within, came childish laughter,
And cries of glee and joy.
And then it struck me,
This was no broken building, it was a home,
A shelter to a poor family.
What I saw, was an old, broken bungalow,
In a place that reeked of death.
Still, the children could laugh and smile,
For, to them, this place was a haven.
I gave a wry smile, and followed the broken path
That led away from that place.
And when I turned back, I could see no house,
Hear no happy cries.
The mist had swallowed it all…
A reminder that home is not about the structure, but about the love and joy within it.