A house is not a home; it is many things.
It is a kitchen stove on which a kettle sings.

It is a table set with care and loving thought
Where conversations dear and fellowships are wrought.

It is a well-worn chair beneath shaded light
Or perhaps a cherished book by a log fire at night.

It is a quiet place for prayer or for rest,
Or just to be alone when aloneness is best.

A home is not a house, but it is several things
Within high walls of love where contentment clings. —Anonymous 

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