I shall dip
my toes in
but I will 
no longer bathe
in this thing 
commonly called life 
I have sat
at its table 
had my fill
and I’m done 
me I’d rather 
sit under my
tree and snack
from a basket 
of music and 
poetry and dream 
for its in
these simple things 
of my heart 
I am satisfied 

I will 
have until 
I have 
no more 
and then 
I will 
wish for 
remember I
will never 
and settle 
I will 
even less

I too dip
like a ladle 
into an empty 
bucket hoping for 
water finding none 
and my thirst
unquenched remains relief
never really known 
and whilst I 
try to go
about my business 
all I ever 
think is water 
until I do 
and it is 
and I can 
at last sip

There are times 
that even I
feel like a
snowy wood forgotten
my floors freshly 
fallen absent prints 
and my boughs 
heavy with newness 
in this pristine 
I am pleased 
until at last
movement of mouse
or even man
sully this home 
then I become 
but a place 
where one is
to go sometimes 

Oh home 
this place 
of old
comfort and 
cold floors
leaping from 
rug to 
rug avoiding 
these tender
toes know
no chill
hurry back
under covers 
with coffee 
and tales
of great 
kitchen adventures