Home is where I want to be
Life spins endlessly like a grand carousel—offering wonders, stories, and fleeting joys. Yet, after gathering all its treasures, the soul finds that the greatest comfort lies in the familiar embrace of its own home.
The world’s a carousel,
Whirling, bustling, and merry,
Colorful are its folks,
Colorful are its scenes,
Colorful are its lights,
A brilliant blur becomes life.
Round, around, around and round,
I spin, I go, and keep on going,
To which the kid inside claps,
Giggles and laughs,
Excited, elated.
No end knows the roundabout.
So spinning still, I start to wonder:
How sweet if I may keep,
Circling around with the world’s riches-
Let it fill me, a pailful of memory,
Golden sands of untold stories,
A song of myself, and mine to sing,
Lingering on my smiling lips,
Forever and forever\!
And thus, a jolly kid on a dizzying carousel,
Unwilling to leave, wild with glee.
A year well spent in these lights I need,
Then home is where I want to be.
My home’s a sculpture,
Silent, solid, calm, and serene,
with a heart that has a me-shaped hole.
Tired of the lights, tired of the riches,
I return home a sleepy kid,
With my pailful of memory,
Golden sands of well-told stories,
A song of myself, a verse well sung.
With heavy eyes, into the hole I’ll climb,
And softly close the door behind.
The walls are dull, and the smells are known,
Yet what a grace to be at home\!
Where every nook and cranny’s my kin,
Where childhood steps still echo soft,
Where pleasant chimes the falling rain,
Where calming is the morning breeze,
Wrapped in blankets, I am at ease.
Silently mothering the kid inside,
The me-shaped hole makes me complete.
When peace, not pleasure, my heart craves,
Leaving behind the roundabout,
Homeward turn my tiny steps.
Deep in my soul this truth I keep:
There’s a me-shaped hole where I’m lulled to sleep.