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Caretaker

by Richard Vince

Perhaps it was for the best that
I never had a key to that door;
Turning the roof into the right sort
Of garden would have been beyond me.

It was never really home for me:
Some rooms in which I put my things and
Myself for a year, and nothing more.
All I had at the time were places
In which I wished to be instead.

A decade on, and rectangular planters
Sit incongruously atop the building,
Catching the light summer rain
Of a dull August evening. I hope
That tired eyes peer blearily out of
The kitchen door and have their morning
Brightened by summer blooms.

Whoever they are, they have allowed
Themselves to settle, to take the shape
Of their surroundings, to mould a home
Around themselves. Someday I hope
I will learn to do the same: to make
A home that is mine, and that is
More than just someone else.

Now is finally the time to learn
To strike that elusive balance
Between my need for others and
My need for myself.

08/01/2016

Posted on 09/10/2016
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

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