Come in from the cold
This old house may not be pretty
Wind through gaps and cracks
Old plaster patches crumbling
Thatch holding back the ice
Providing warmth and lodgings
Dust bunnies and brown mice
Home fires all their own
This place may not be pretty, but it seems to have good bones
Untrained, untethered, unfettered from without
Unmoored all of a lifetime
Knowing only my own doubts
Drowning out the noise
The winds of change ring in my ears
I hear only my voice
I only feel the years
I speak only my mind and desire little else
I am the wind, I am the sail, the ship and every swell
thInkStains 