Poem

[hrj]

I am mourning the thought of leaving this house
Like the anticipation of a death in the family,
And yet --
The things I have done to make it my own,
I could do again.
The things I have surrounded myself with to line my nest
Would come with me.
And wherever I go,
I will plant plums and roses.
There must always be plums and roses.

Comments

[cellio]

It's sad to be driven out like that and have to start over somewhere else, but maybe you can also see it as an opportunity to make something even better for yourself? You probably have more resources to draw on now than when you found this place, which might blunt the blow a little?