Dream House
There are flowers growing in my gutters, and I am joyful for the cold.
There is moth beneath my shutters, and we are happy scraping mold.
Ivy curls around the fence line, and we rejoice in pulling weeds.
We have removed the blackberries, and sprinkle wild seeds.
A wall of rocks retains the hill, and scotch broom sprouts a yellow plume.
The back half acre’s safe in daylight, but dangers lurk beneath the moon.
A short walk from end to end, and we love each crunching step.
A small blue house on Windsor Way, a place dreamed once while we slept.