North Wall

The gate was open and I took a peek.
The house was empty. No one was around.
My little cottage, tiny and unique,
abuts their yard and decorates their ground.
I never see my north side. Is it sound?
I gazed at painted boards and ivy sign.
The wall looks shorter out than in, I found.
The bed-side of my habitat is fine.

(Huitain)

This entry was posted in Home, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment