Our house is our castle… Of that your can plainly see.
The turrets are there to hide in… The grand hall for festivities…
The dungeon is for the bad boys… that try to invade my day.
It’s where the Hubby spends most of his time, yes, with Trolls, at play.
Visitors are always welcome, but ‘be warned’ about the moat…
There’ll be no skinny dipping there, biting allegories, you must note.
So, do not bare your souls of naughty thoughts, within this castle of mine.
Or ‘Truly’ you’ll end up in the moat… being bit in the behind.
The sheriff ‘Armadilly Billy’ is the watchman at the door.
‘Miss Kitty Perfect’ is my voice as it was meant to soar.
The penguins are the greatest friends, which you would ever want.
And my Dragon is the mischief, with which I stir the pot, so nonchalant.
Grandpa Troll is my ‘words of wisdom’ guy, who keeps me down to earth.
The Trolls play out my every whim, in harmless, yet crazy, mirth.
Hubby stirs the pot with endless whimsy, to levels of great renown.
And the neighbor hood witch saves the day, when we’re about to drown.
Perhaps you’ve noticed my castle, ‘is in’ this mind of mine, the belfry.
And all the pieces, except for Hubby, are in there hanging, so very free.
Now if it is a writer: that you are dearly in need of… or are, in wont to be.
Just open up your mind, and build your own castle, there, just like me.
So cross that bridge, and “come on over’, enjoy your own… insanity!