My family is a house.
My father is the stairs. Just climb up on him into our house.
My mother is the door. She tries to keep the bad people out.
My sister is the chimney, cracking away like dust in the wind. Breaking away from the house. Aging by time.
Sam, our old pet bird, is the bird feeder. All alone outside the front window with no birds on itâ€™s perch.
I am the roof, I am the basement, and I am the attic. I hear everything that is going on and I try to keep everyone safe and sound.