Cinnamon House

Snow falls down on my house,

Cold air is all around,

But the red siding keeps me warm,
Like a big blanket,

The smell of cinnamon,

Fills the house,

Cookies in the oven,

Milk on the counter,

Pulling up my socks I run down the stairs,

And my mothers there,

For the first time in years,

My father in his big blue chair,

smoking from his wooden pipe,

At last I'm home again,

But, then the wind picks up,

Taking the smell of Cinnamon with it,

Stealing from me my Cinnamon House,

Then my mother disappears,

My fathers chair turns grey,

And the color from the red siding washes away,

I close my eyes tightly,

and when I open them,

I'm in my bed again,

My socks have fallen back down my legs,

goodbye My Cinnamon House, Goodbye.