Poetry Friday: Stand


You blend in, cottage,
with your pastel friends.
They dot the hilly landscape
and brighten cloudy days.

You stand firm in the
winds and mists and webs and years,
listening to the gulls call
over hungry, icy ocean rolls.

You can’t hear the trees,
but they speak of you,
whispering to me that you,
you, cottage, are a stranger.

And no matter how bright your paint,
or sturdy your walls,
or patient your heart,
you’ll never belong.

But I watch as you stand still
and firm and constant and smile
even as trees whisper,
cold suffocates,
and mist rots your wood.

Because you understand,
and I understand,
the need to just


2 thoughts on “Poetry Friday: Stand

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