A Poem: The Builder

I am building a house.
One without walls to let the sunlight in.
One without rooms,
so we can reach out
and hold each other’s hands.

And my house,
it may not even have a roof.
So that we might see
the whole expanse
of what’s above, and around.

And for the floor?
I like the feel of earth.

Will you come and live
with me in my house?
It’s not much, but it’s built
out of all the things that last.
And made of love.

Ana Lisa de Jong
March 2013

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