Love Makes a House a Home

I never took her for granted.

Her presence was always wanted.

When she came home i panted.

without her the house was haunted.

Now that she isn’t coming back

i see her only in my dreams.

The house is nothing but a shack.

She had made it a home it seems.

So i sold it–moved away

and home is a memory.

There was no reason to stay.

In dreams she is still with me.

In dreams i have found my home

and that makes this a love poem.

Walt Abbott–6-24-2010