Feet going ching-ching, Tinker Bell twinkling in the house,
you walking up and down, industrious, updating the budget
in your war-room, rainfall statistics, stacking groceries in the
kitchen - I washed the dishes, so I don’t feel guilty - watering
flowers, banging and clashing as you make tea - going out,
coming in, never a moment’s peace - and you do it so kindly,
taking care of domestic duties, but it sounds like a cavern in
which the ching-ching of your Rockies are reverberating -
I love my house, I love the sunroom - but this is an open-plan
hell-hole for anyone wishing to gather their thoughts - if only
the light were not so bright I could take laptop and notebook
out to the porch for some quiet and peace…
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