Poetry

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Our little shanty
On the side of the road
Isn't much to look at,
But it is ... Our abode

Broken down shutters
With a weather worn roof
Rusty old gutters
Looking shabby, and aloof

Some who look upon it
Might take pity on me
Thinking I am poor
Because of what they see

They can't see the caring
Nor the happiness within
While we share each new day
Me. . . and my kin

Material things . . . lovely to behold
Can't compare to the joy inside
This I wouldn't trade for all the gold
Yes, I look on our shanty . . . with pride

You see, home is where the heart is
And our shanty is brimming with love
For all these blessings, I am grateful
They were given from . . . God above.

Judith Johnson Kypta
Copyright 2004



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