CELIA'S POEMS

      

            No 28   April 14    

 

            | know thereís one thing we all love,

              No matter where we roam,

              We always feel the happiest,

              When weíre in our own home.

 

              If youíve been in hospital,

              You canít wait for the doctors round,

              You immediately feel better,     

              When he says youíre homeward bound.

 

              Youíve saved up for a holiday,

              And youíre cruising round ďThe MedĒ,

              Although everything is perfect,

              You long for your own bed.

 

              Sometimes after a holiday,

              Youíre telling friends youíve been to Rome,

              You tell them it was wonderful,

              But youíre glad to be back home.

 

              When we go to our caravan,

              Itís like a second home,

              But when we come back to Keighley,

              Thatís 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,

              Ďcause 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 isnít fun,

              But if someone says we can go out,

              Iím 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.