Writing Abode I set out for a traipse Through woodland of the green To take a breath of purest air To renew my senses keen Enjoying was I my little stroll When the thicket I came upon Gave way to scarcely a path Beckoning me to continue on I followed minutely a trail Which lead me to this place Where a quaint little cottage Had grown flowers as her face She stood rather small And wore a hat of mossy thatch Lined with ribbon about the brim That lead to a pond of rainwater catch Morning glory enshrouded glass eyes In dark I know must glow Had I not looked for them I fear that they would never show Her mouth was of the deepest red Where the antique rose now grows And above it there, entwined by ivy A wreath grew gaily as her nose I stepped back and looked once more Into those eyes of glory growing blue Their temptation proved far too much So I fulfilled my desire to peer on through I could see small lamps were lit Casting warmth of