Coming Home

There’s a special way I feel
When I’m coming home to you,
When I know your arms await me,
And there’s nothing more to do
But relax into your cuddles,
And hear tales about your day,
As we knock together dinner,
Whilst the children help or play.
I revel in the sameness,
In the structure and routine,
Of your arms awaiting my arms,
When I’m back from where I’ve been.
I feel sad when I’m not with you,
But I think of you at home,
Which is really rather silly
As it makes me feel alone.
When I’m on my travels,
Especially if I’m gone a while,
I look forward to returning
To a cuppa and a smile.

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This entry was posted in Daily Life, Family, Relationships, Romantic, To my husband, Travel and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Coming Home

  1. colonialist says:

    One still tends to think in stereotypes to the extent that this would be taken as a poem to a wife by a husband!

    Like

  2. I like this poem, its just how I feel when returning home, its great going away, but even better returning home. My cats are always pleased when I arrive back from my travels and I’m equally pleased to see them.

    Like

  3. kutukamus says:

    Now that’s one homey quite welcoming tree you have. 🙂

    Like

  4. When home is a happy place there certainly is no place like it xx

    Liked by 1 person

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