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Deborah Ann Tornillo, click here
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Home
They say...
It’s where the heart is.
Memories of warmth...
Together, we’ve reached.
I fly with the eagles
In the morning’s sun
Over the Shenandoah
The cabin’s the one.
An ocean so vast
Your wide opened smile
I’m celestial glory...
Seeing fog for a mile.
Riding the surf
Waves of crystal glass
Understanding newness
Realizing the past.
Gambling down the road
Home number four
Decorated that one
Why, What for?
What about our castle
The one we come and go
Back and forth to work
It’s your daily toll.
Home...
It’s where the heart is.
It’s all about you
Listen, it's all about me.
Deborah Ann Tornillo
Copyright, 2012
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Deborah Tornillo
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| Reviewed by Barbara Henry |
7/19/2012 |
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Beautiful depiction of home Deborah, and it goes so much further than the brick and mortar versions doesn't it?
When you get a moment, read my poem on "Home", and let me know your thoughts.
Continued success-
Barbara J. Henry |
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| Reviewed by Donna Chandler |
3/23/2012 |
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True indeed --- the white picket fence is not required for a house to become a home.
Donna |
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| Reviewed by Mary Lacey, Desertrat |
3/21/2012 |
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Debbie,
That's absolutely beautiful. I love your last stanza, it's so true.
Mary |
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