Dodgy poetry alert.

My house is not shiny and new ,

it doesn’t have an extension

or an open plan milieu .

My house is tatty and old ,

it looks nice in the dark with fairy lights abound,

but in the cold light of day ,  its secrets are exposed.

Its been loved and used but is in need of care.

I often look longingly at others squeaky units ,

plush floors, cabinets that harbour secret passages .

I often feel envy at the cash that has been paid.

But i also remind myself that I have a home ,

not a shack ,

A roof that doesn’t leak rain

A door that does sustain.

A machine that washes my clothes and dishes ,

there are some in the world who are having these  wishes.

I do try to be thankful for what I have got ,

to not yearn for more.

I am after all but a spirit in  clothes of flesh.

My house reflects my physical home.

A bit worn out ,  prone to neglect.

Forgotten ,  put last. Bit by bit I need to repair.

To look at just one part that can be spared.

To not see the whole and sigh .   .

To stop procrastinating ! The end is not nigh .