Behind a copse of pine,   

lies a home I wish were mine. 

 

Sappy fascicles so drippy in the wind. 

Behold the branches whip and bend! 

This grove reaches so very tall;   

my inner child cannot help but to enthrall.

  

To purchase it, I would give all of my coffers. 

Surely, I would beat all other offers! 

Where the cottage lies, 

has led the child to surmise:

 

If I but had it for a home, 

my heart would no longer roam. 

I find myself without the need, 

to know whose name is on the deed.

 

I’ll just cozy up on the porch, 

and pray to elude discovery by their torch.