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

A Ghost Ship

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