Goldilocks found the bears’ home
And tried to suit herself there.
Red Riding Hood trudged the woods
To find her grandma’s home.
Cinderella was made princess
By a fairy visiting her foster home
Only to give her a dream home.
Hansel and Gretel left home
To be brought back home with more love.
Rapunzel was taken away from home
To a tower that showed her a new home.
So the baby knows one starts from home
By daylight perhaps, and returns home
By twilight or star-light.
A little lass thinks of a home
She may help build as she cuddles
Her little doll or cooks with relish
With toy utensils over an imaginary fire.
A waif in the streets would pick up twigs
And splinters of wood to make her game
Of simulating home and kitchen as she
Watches a maid in tatters beside her.
The modern feminist instructor preaches
To a bedevilled audience of the humbug
That feminine instinct is, and slams
The whole blame on patriarchy. She forgets
There was chemistry long, long before
A patriarch arrived in a prehistoric den.
The girl sees her mother bustling around,
Or rues she has no mother to fuss over her.
Less fortunate ones ardently wish
To be the thing they once missed.
The treats on the table and quilts on the bed,
Rich or low or inferior, would mean but the home
Making burning or smouldering homefires
Worth a million festive lights.
The girl would scarce wait to grow
To don the apron of a mother’s care.
Home is no structure– just a sensation.
It is vital as the air and water.
The baby crawling on the dirty floor
Of a shack or hovel feels like a lord
Who knows he won’t be spurned
As in aristocratic well-mowed lawns
Where the rich frown at his unscrubbed face
And convulse at his unkempt hair.
Home is where fancy flies highest
Without fear of falling or drowning,
Where one need not fear the silence
Of the court, and frolics and prances
Like a colt.