My house will be filled with the things that I love; Goldfish, dandelions, Green sofas, Greek mythology, Books of psychology. Books. Lots of books with lots of words. Multiple copies of the really good books too. All stacked to the ceiling on bookshelves adequate to The height of the house All equivalent to My love of the place I’ll call home. A sock monkey here or there, pillows and throw blankets. Pictures of Lake Louise, and a souvenir If I’m ever lucky enough to go there. I will print poetry, frame it, put it on my walls. My walls will be yellow gray and blue, I will have a boombox with speakers that go BOOM (but at night it will sing me to sleep with many sweet lullabies). And it’s music will fade to the sound of voices Voices of people I love and admire Who can walk through the door, of the place I aspire To make my own, To share and not waste With the precious presence of others And their ideas And hopes and dreams So if you aren't a thing I love, You have to leave. I’ll probably have a lot of lamps too.