CELIA'S POEMS

            No 28   April 14    

            | know there’s one thing we all love,

              No matter where we roam,

              We always feel the happiest,

              When we’re in our own home.

              If you’ve been in hospital,

              You can’t wait for the doctors round,

              You immediately feel better,     

              When he says you’re homeward bound.

              You’ve saved up for a holiday,

              And you’re cruising round “The Med”,

              Although everything is perfect,

              You long for your own bed.

              Sometimes after a holiday,

              You’re telling friends you’ve been to Rome,

              You tell them it was wonderful,

              But you’re glad to be back home.

              When we go to our caravan,

              It’s like a second home,

              But when we come back to Keighley,

              That’s the place that we call home.

              Just now the place is perfect,

              Of that there is no doubt,

              We had nothing else to do but clean,

              ‘cause no-one could let us out.

              Never in my lifetime,

              As my memory recalls,

              Have I ever been so fed up,

              As I am of these four walls.

              I suffer with my back a lot,

              Even walking isn’t fun,

              But if someone says we can go out,

              I’m sure that I would run.

              So if you see me running,

              It will be to an aerodrome,

              I want to get as far away,

              From this place that I call home.