An Organic Poem
The roof is held up by a tree,
lets in a little rain and sun.
No bricks or mortar here,
just wattle and daub,
no windows
on which to press your nose,
no chimney breasts, but a fire of course
and in the day it's musty and cold
and at night smoky and warm.
I do not want to live
like those who speak now and then
for the sake of the children.
Nature and I
have managed to stay
close friends.
Tristan Moss
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tristan Moss
would be pleased to hear them.