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.