I'm building a house,
with my own two hands.

The kitchen is empty,
the walls sigh,
their breath is restful,
the oven serenades.

I can taste the sweetness in the air,
it rings softly as trees billow,
willows casting shadows,
their tears hang in the air.

A bulwark,
shelter from the storm,
I am alone,
but I do not feel lonely,
I am home.

I have made a home,
with my own two hands.