The Green Patch
Sitting atop ruins
Covering the rotting past
I have found my own hideaway:
This Hundred Acre Wood.
To call my own.
Yes, it is far
From the isolation
Oh so common around me
Creatures best beware
Of passerby
Nevertheless,
Items of our past
The earliest foundations of home
And new discovery
May be found.
This poem is about:
Me
My community