The house we live in
our doors are always open
although some have missing handles
we glide from room to room
arms full of Lenor and odd socks
our ceilings, complete with roses
protect us from the elements
our walls are smooth and fresh
we mosaic colour on our bathroom floor
to brighten our mornings
we potter, we sing
when storms threaten
we dim the lights and watch the sky
throw tantrums
we bring winter in on our feet
leaving snow puddles in the hall
for the cat to lap
at Christmas our 'living' fire imitates tradition
it is the centre of our world
where gifts are wrapped
and love is unwrapped


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