Even the Lifeless Have Life

Walking across drying bushes, I gaze upon my inanimate house, Waiting to converse in conversation. I open the gates, with its folded arms And walk upon the roots’ children. I enter my tiresome home. She seems to call for my attention, Making creaking sounds at the passing of each step. Opening the door to our private room, I feel her smooth wooden skin and cherish her defaults, Since we have been together for many-a-years. I lie on her honey-oat scented sheets And watch the sprites of nature dance.