I have a wonderful home where the butterfly roam and the trees are purple and gold
I have a small garden fragrant and sweet, where silver geese have overflown
There is lavender blue and forget me nots too and the wine comes straight from the vine
I sit and I knit with cobwebs I’ve picked, laced with dew and I think life is fine
How the laughter of summer gives us all good cheer and warms us straight to the bone
I sit and I ponder about life beyond yonder and I can’t ever leave this home
For it is said there, that life is cold and without care
That people laden forests with chrome
They have not a good thought about what will be fraught of the animals they have to rehome
I cannot yet see, how life can be, as cold and cruel as it is there
I cannot imagine life within margins where everything is ripped bare
I don’t believe it’s true, I bet neither can you
Those creatures can be so mean
It must be a story for there is no glory in living life that demeans
So I sit in wonder at that awful place
It can’t be real I say
For surely intelligent creatures can see the damage of what they take away?
Life can never be that way
I think here I am meant to stay
