From floor to ceiling
bookshelves and a fireplace.
words for healing
with a glass of wine and jazz.
My house is poetry.
I am warden of its books and garden,
woodland lilacs and a pond with frogs.
It’s warm in winter and in summer
muslin curtains billow crossbreeze cool.
My house has bulwarks, turrets and
a private moat.
There are rooms for dreams,
rooms to meet and sing,
rooms for everything.
Acres for a lake with boat and
I need a country kitchen too,
for apple pies and Sunday steak,
for having breakfast served at noon.
My home’s a castle,
a place to live, a place to die.
but late at night I dream of giving up
to fault my mortgage
for a mountain trail
for your giggles
when we pitch our tent at night.
Today at dVerse Sarah guest prompt us and asks us to write poetry about our dream house… imagine how would you build it…but maybe in the end I want a tent.
March 7, 2017