A log cabin, I'd built for myself,
A make shift swing waiting to engulf,
I would like to wake up to my snore,
Only to snuggle deeper under my pillow...

Steaming mug of Coffee in hand,
Favourite books at the side stand,
A barbecue grill by the banks of the river,
With only few birds to share the pleasure...

Though time is frozen in this land,
It should be racing at the land of despair...
I wake up to the sound of alarm,
In a clumsy hole called my home.