Poem: Homey

A worn old chair by the window light,
Where morning spills in soft and bright.
The smell of coffee, bread just made—
The hum of peace that doesn’t fade.

Walls may crack, and floors may creak,
But here the quiet dares to speak.
Of laughter deep and stories long,
Of lullabies and kitchen song.

A sweatshirt hung, a muddy shoe,
A photo frame, a stitch or two—
These little things, so plain, so true,
Make every corner feel like you.

It’s not the place—it’s how it’s filled,
With love unbought and time distilled.
With every sigh and Sunday stew,
With souls that know and welcome you.

So call it “homey”—soft and slow,
A kind of love that doesn’t show
In chandeliers or grand displays,
But in the ordinary days.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie