Happy House.

I want a house in the hills,
with pristine views of the skies
and the forgotten mills.

I want the linen on my bed,
to speak to me in riddles
and leave me with stories worthy of pickles.

I want a stone fire place,
with skewers made of iron
and a fire that mimics a dancer’s grace.

I want my cutlery to be happy and queer,
with mismatching colours of the rainbow
to leave my guests puzzled with cheer.

I want the sunshine and I want the rain,
and when you walk in through that door,
I want you to blink back in amaze.