A house is wood, walls, and stone,

A roof to shield all, a space alone.

It stands in echoed silence, brick and beam,

With quiet halls that never dream.

A home is laughter in the air,

Warm hugs that chase away any despair.

It holds our secrets, keeps our tears,

And grows with us through all the years.

A house is painted, neat and tall,

But empty if there is no love at all.

A home is worn, yet soft and true,

It’s not what’s built, but who’s alongside you.

A house can crumble, crack, or fall,

But home is something in us all.

It’s Sunday dinners, whispered prayers,

And every “I love you” said upstairs.