Photo Credit: gurdonark via Compfight cc
We conspired to stay here forever,
but the house crumbled around us.
The house is gone from the maps.
The river rose and washed it away.
We found ourselves, stranded,
at the top of the hill,
A newborn sea raging beneath us.
They said in the papers
the sparrows were coming back.
They built a home for the sparrows
high up in the oak tree.
Now we have to wait.
We have nightingales and flamebirds,
but no sparrows yet.
Some people don’t believe in sparrows.
They say those are just stories
told to children at bedtime.
I am going home.
My decision is final.
I will find my home
exactly as I left it.
Not a brick will be missing.
My home, as I wrote it down.
My palace, as I painted it.
GloPoWriMo Day 16