Home

Eight rooms and bath, a cellar, too, a little patch of mother earth,
Above it just a stretch of blue, it makes no difference what it's worth,
t's home to me, and more and more I grow to love it every day,
And when at night I pass the door, it's there I always want to stay.
The furniture, perhaps, is not so fine as other folks possess,
But it's a mighty cosy spot, and shelters in our happiness;
The pictures on the walls aren't much, our tapestries aren't extra fine,
But everything I see or touch holds joy for me because it's mine.
Within these unpretentious walls are love and laughter finely blent;
Rich men may have their marble halls, they cannot shut out discontent,
And were this house a mansion grand I could not any happier be,
For here I have at my command all that the world can give to me.