Standing tall and proud,

The windows are my eyes.

I see those who walk upon the streets,

But care for only those inside me.

I keep them warm and dry,

Sheltering them from harsh winds and rains.

I am a place where they sleep.

A savior from outsiders.

They are my children.

I am their mother,

Firm and protective.

I become a memory as they grow.

I am security and stability for some;

The only one they can depend on.

Ignorant is what I make them.

I hide them from the cruel world;

The one they wish not to see.

Yet I keep them from the views of others.

Then comes a poor, unfortunate soul,

Who sees me no longer as a mother.

To him, I am a prison

That holds no escapes.

And trapped behind my locked doors

Is a prisoner who dreams of more

Than living within me.