Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Our own houses

Could it be this house?
The one with the tree?
That one painted blue?
We tried to guess
What could be our new home
As we entered the street
The empty house
Greeted us like an old friend
Throwing open its windows
Revealing its secret spaces
To us children first,
Giving us new playmates
New trees to climb
Little gardens
To raise our own plants
The moon beams streaming in
Made bashful buds flower
Those houses we did not own
We still think of as our own.

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