Home

Freshly brewed coffee in the kitchen,
Or the local cafe on the corner.
Where I catch the morning sun,
Or where I put my head to rest when the day is done.
I know now that I belong.
Whether it’s Beijing,
Or Medellín,
Sorry mother,
Perhaps I’m somewhat a scatterling.
Although I cannot stand the thought of being boxed or domed in,
The way I see it,
I could be in a hotel, motel or inn and still feel at home.
Never a new beginning like spring,
This entire world is my home,
And I’m not stopping till I’ve made sure all the rooms are clean.

Written By: Matthew Taylor

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