One day I felt lost and empty,
As if I’d been misplaced.
So I sat and I pondered why it might be
That I have not yet found my home to embrace.

I thought about many houses
I’ve lived in: the future, present, and past.
Though none seem to be
Of importance to me
And none could ever last.

Maybe home is where the heart is,
That’s what most would say.
But if this is so,
Than how should I know
Where exactly my heart lays?

“Maybe my hearts in my family,” I say in fickleness.
But it didn’t feel quite right
They never gave me that type of bliss.
I then wondered how I’ve stayed happy
Through the years, weeks, and days.
School, friends, good memories,
They’re all just okay.

Then I noticed something subtle
That I will overlook no more.
It’s the outright peace and comfort
That I only feel outdoors

My home is the shimmering water of ponds,
The butterflies and bees,
The sun, the moon, the stars, the rain
The soft, green grass, the great, tall trees.
I found my home in nature,
With in the peaceful breeze.
Breathing in the fresh, sweet air
Lets me feel relaxed and pleased.