Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.

The celler door lead into the attic. If that makes sense.

Where my favorite flowers
Rest in a vase.  
And I deal with matters
At a personal pace.

Where I spend winter,
Spring, summer, and fall.
And my favorite pictures
Grace every wall.

And it’s where I recover
When I have been frail—
Where I get all my tweets,
My ‘e’ and ‘snail’ mail.