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.
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