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Share '8th October - Dave Cryer poem 1'
Home is not a house, it’s not made of bricks.
Home is not a place, you can’t say it’s fixed.
Home is not a person who’s always there,
So where is my home?
Home is a thought you can have when away.
Home is a bird who is seen every day.
Home is a chair, then it’s not, it’s just not –
So what is my home?
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