Homeless

Some days are treasure.
Wandering the vales of unmoving time
the trees might grow, the rocks might fall
and the voice might falter after a day's silence.
Some days are crushed sapphire skies
and emerald and topaz for a bed
Some days are the choice to be homeless
for we the fortunate.
This oak tree, these firs,
they are my walls.
These nettles, this wild wheat,
they are my larder
my playthings.
Some days are treasure
to remind me that we are all homeless
sometimes.

RDP Prompt: Homeless

3 thoughts on “Homeless

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