My Comfort, My Home

by subacati

Tis not these walls that comfort me.
Nor roof above nor floor below.
No window, door nor timber frame,
No pot no kettle nor hearth aflame.
Not even cup. no plate no bed.
Nought all the gold of which you've read.
Can make for us a home to keep.
Copyright 2008/07/31
Aadil Shah