What is a house if it isn't a sweet home?
May be a mansion, bungalow or great dome,
Walls will be damp; rooms eerie and bore,
If no wife listens for your footsteps at door.
The bricks and pillars play DO RE ME FA,
When she scrubs and wipes with folded paw.
The step-up dance stride from floor tiles,
Match the rhythm of her mop all the while.
The melodious hum from her deep heart,
Spreads at home the rainbow of seven art.
The flowers and petals she neatly array,
Wafts positive energy of life everywhere.
The aroma of delicacies with smoke and soot,
Really binds family relations; not just moot,
The cajole and caress expression she spins,
Makes all at home overcomes trials and win.
"Women "the real roof of a house no doubt,
She spreads wide her wings protectively stout.
Each sapling she plants turns her home -Paradise,
Each nook and corner of her house, never off -sight.
Home Sweet Home made by women alone,
The others are pieces of puzzles she joyfully own,
The pieces that are placed; matched and shown
How a stony structure is changed into Sweet Home.

Jacintha Morris,
Welfare Assistant
AG's Office, Trivandrum

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