Here is your rickety wooden poem. Here is your red, peeling paint poem, your weather-beaten and abused poem. Here is your hands-full-of-slivers poem, knuckle-broken and arthritic. Here is your tragic prairie poem, your apologetic poem, your wind and wet-woollen-mitten poem. Here is your graffiti poem, your smudge-of-neon-pink poem, here is your fixer-upper. Here is your horse’s hoof poem, imprinted and impressed, here is your nail and horseshoe, your forgiving walls-of-wood poem. Here is your snoozing-in-the-rafters-on-a-sun-stroked-Sunday- afternoon poem, your hay-a-mile-high poem, fantastic fort and hideaway. Here is your cobwebs and sleeping cats poem, your midnight and screeching bats poem. Here is your rain-drenched, kissing-in-the-shadows poem, your must and mice and midden poem. Here is your pitchfork poem, your toss and sneeze and toss and hork. Here is your hush, your hush, your what’s-the- rush poem, your nest and your welcome home.