House of Mud

In a house of mud and straw

Forged by those I dearly know

A place where I often, in my memory, go

But I can not stay

There

I run

On tiles of clay

Hand made by a husband and a wife grandma and grandpa

Big part of my precious life

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Poet, making sense of war, humanity, love and greed. Trying to find the magic in ordinary things. I am Zee View all posts by strangerpaths