Bedsheet crumpled in soft swirls
Sunlight streams in through dusty glass
Books stacked high in bricks of color
It stays the same as the seasons pass
Movie nights and lazy mornings
Piles of blankets when snowflakes fall
The squeaking of a ceiling fan,
Laughter, and tears echo off the walls
A place of comfort, a place of rest
There I am like a bird in her nest
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