Why by Olivia My home is America I love it dearly but sometimes When I'm in the car and I see the houses Some big andcheerful and some old and rundown. When walking in the street I smell food And factory smoke; But there's a smell that's not so common, The smell of longing for love. It hurts to know People don't always live happy And free. There is a place out back a tree to be exact. It is something I can call my own It is something I can be proud of. I feel bad to know not everyone has that The pain is like a needle pushing its way through the delicate Thread of a blouse. I love my home, It's sad to say it is only home sweet home... To some more than others.

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