A house but not a home

In a distant country, where war and conflict are as often as a tick tock of a clock, lives many poor innocent refugees with only sheets and rags to be their homes.
A sheet hung on a short stick could never possibly be recognised as a home, but these poor suvilians how are they to know.
A lady, just a lady with no husband to be seen lives alone, but with thousands just like her on the same scene, believe me this is not a dream.
A young one the left a young one to the right looked straight at me all I could see in their eyes was fright.
They are alone but in a sense they are not because everywhere you looked there were lots.
A family of three, a mother and her two young, all so young. The boy of three sat under the frail tree and cried please just let this be a bad dream.
Seven days had passed now and this small family of three have barley eaten a portion much bigger than a pea.
Call it a house but not a home because a home should be a place of warmth health and enternity were a family sit by the fire drinking sweetly warmed tea.
This poor family of three will continue to live in the reality of this bad dream with rags on there back how will they survive the winters bitter breeze.
This is a house for now but it will never be a home.