Unfinished.
One hard year.
Work hard, make a buck.
Work hard, advertise, make a buck.
Good bids mean profit
Bid carefully. Like
A good Quaker. Don’t
Take advantage of anyone,
Even your self little david.
Little david,
Little david, son.
Will it be easier to leave in a year?
Will my love lessen?
Will I be able to finally put my old lover away
To see her in the arms of another.
Could my old loins inseminate again?
Could there be another
House to love and live in
In?
I wish i knew
Gratitude #83 - Sweet Biddies!
11 years ago
2 comments:
I like this poem. I've always felt home is where the heart is - the structure isn't really relevant. But the older I get, the more settled I am and don't care to start over in a new house.
I designed and built this house in the mid '70's. My children grew up here. It is as 70's as it can be.
But it is my home. It has an orchard, garden, berries, a footbridge over a stream down the center and my cabinet shop.
It has been home for a long time and I can be forgiven, I hope, if I am not anxious to leave it.
In time that may be necessary, but I will drag my feet.
At 70 could I help a daughter build a new house 200 miles away?
How much life is left in these old bones?
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