Friday Fictioneers

To join in visit Rochelle’s site:

This weeks photo:

Up upon a wooded hill
inside a wooden shack
stone makes up the front walls
and mud holds up the back

Its here that mother nature
can rest her head in Spring
working hard all winter
So we hear robins sing

And in this house so little
a being waits inside
letting Mother Nature be
alone, and for he’ll hide

And when it’s time to come out
the weather’s turned up warm
He cleans up all the old debris
and any from the storms

The yard never gets pretty
it stays plain like his home
but happy is this little one
The little garden gnome.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

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