Walking down a lonely street
The thoughts of the day swirl in my mind
Carrying a backpack full of books
On my way home.
I imagine, the smell
the taste,
the feel of home.
Always waiting for me when I come home.
Everyday, I wait to go home.
Just so I can be me.
I arrive at the front door.
A note on the door
Saying,
'Did you have a good day?
See you in an hour or so.'
I smile and carry my backpack inside.
That's why I always love coming home.
Cat Ducat
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coming-home-28/
