The Place I Call Home

by Presley Paras

No tremendous sights to look at for days.

No sense of greenery walking around.

No nose catching scents running in the wind.

Nor happy nor sad senses of feelings here.

Only a beautiful golf course covered by fences

of chain link and one of trees 100s of feet tall.

Growing inch by inch trying to touch the clouds.

Occupied with birds that chirp the rhythm of a song.

The layout of the golf course would make a mongoose dizzy.

trying to dodge or steal golf balls from players.

The place behind the sets of fences

the place I call home.