Classic Poem

“What makes a home?”
I asked my little boy,
And this is what he said,
“You, mother,
And when father comes.
Our table set all shiny,
And my bed,
And mother, I think it's home,
Because we love each other.”

You who are old and wise,
What would you say
If you were asked the question?
Tell me, pray.

And simply as a little child,
The old wise ones can answer nothing more—
A man, a woman and a child,
Their love,
Warm as the gold hearth fire along the floor.
A table, and a lamp for light.
And smooth white beds at night.
Only the old sweet fundamental things.

And long ago I learned—
Home may be near, home may be far
But it is anywhere
That love
And a few plain household treasures are.

“What makes a home?”
I asked my little boy,
And this is what he said,
“You, mother,
And when father comes.
Our table set all shiny,
And my bed,
And mother, I think it's home,
Because we love each other.”

You who are old and wise,
What would you say
If you were asked the question?
Tell me, pray.

And simply as a little child,
The old wise ones can answer nothing more—
A man, a woman and a child,
Their love,
Warm as the gold hearth fire along the floor.
A table, and a lamp for light.
And smooth white beds at night.
Only the old sweet fundamental things.

And long ago I learned—
Home may be near, home may be far
But it is anywhere
That love
And a few plain household treasures are.