My Sweet Home by Joan Currie

Within these walls, my heart does rest,
A haven wrought with love’s own crest.
The strokes of brush on canvas bare,
Birds in flight and animals fair.
Vermont’s wild lands in oil unfold,
Sunset’s fire, winter’s cold.

Here roses bloom in vases old,
Ceramic treasure finely scrolled.
Their petals whisper of the past,
Of father’s gifts – how time does last.
And glass that gleams, my mother’s hand,
In paperweights from foreign lands.

On shelves, the books of poets dwell,
Their words, like spells, my soul compels.
Photographs with faces dear,
In every frame, I hold them near.
This is my world, a soft embrace,
Where every corner finds its place.

Some speak of spaces clean and bare,
Of lives unbound by things they wear.
Yet here, amidst this cherished cache,
I find my peace and hold it fast.
For in each token, vase, or frame,
Life’s rich fabric, for now remains.

So let the world of minimal claim,
Their rooms untouched by love’s sweet flame.
For in my charming abode, I see,
The beauty that belongs to me.

I have just started giving my special treasures to my daughters for their own homes. I love seeing how my belongings look surrounded by completely different color and decorating schemes, and, my daughters’ own art and objects of affection.