In your House, part 1 [sonnet]
I stood before your winsome house today
(I swear it had a face which seemed to smile).
The architecture took my breath away;
I lingered and admired it for a while.
The garden, though immaculate, was bare;
it seemed as if some vandal had passed through.
For only in one corner flowers were there:
Geraniums, but in the colour blue.
So then I wandered through the threshold’s doors
and saw you lived in just one room of ten.
The nine were full of baggage (though not yours).
Who did this to you, spoiled your home, and when?
“Please wait outside; you’re not yet welcome here”.
Those were your words (and in your eyes was fear).
© Alan Morrison, 2015
The Naked Troubadour 