Written in 1983.
Home is where the heart is,
I hear people say.
But home is something much more.
Home is where the joy is.
Home is the constant happiness
in a changing, hurting world.
But I left Home long ago.
A Home of grass lands and animals.
A Home of many colours in many shades.
A Home of many friends without masks.
Now, I live in a House.
A House like the world,
shut out, but let in.
A House where people see
but they are blind.
I am not happy here.
Why did I leave my Home
for a House filled with mannequins?
