Oh the little place where you live,

where the breeze passes through the louvers and screens
and the sky is big in the sliding glass doors;

where the birds squeak and squawk,
and the wind plays woody music in the window while
the raucous leaves of the bushes and trees
chat at each other, and none of them are listening;

where the living room is sunlit and bright,
the walls are white and clean, and the furniture is soft,
and here and there are bits of glass and pottery and art.

oh the little place where you live,
where beauty strikes your soul like a flint,
sending up glowing sparks of joy in your heart.